Beggars Banquet
by elviswhataguy
Summary: Willow/Faith. Our journey through the Wickedgeekyverse continues with the follow-up to Let It Bleed (which should probably be read before proceeding with this installment). Twelve short fics; no overarching 'plot'-thingy this time around.
1. One: Hang Fire

**Note:** Should you be kind enough to comment on/review _Beggars Banquet_, please try to avoid mentioning anything spoilery twist-wise, for the sake of those folks who like to check out reviews before they read. Thank you.

**'Hang Fire' contains paraphrased song lyrics from: **_How I Got Over _(words & music by Clara Ward).

**Thanks to: **mphoenix, frogfarm, somercet, and Ian M.

****

* * *

**BEGGARS BANQUET**

_In which,_

_following the breathtaking excitement (!)_

_of Let It Bleed, we slow things down_

_in order to make our way through_

_a figurative feast of short musings_

_fashioned not only to shed further illumination on our OTP,_

_but also to propose_

_that size doesn't matter (except when it does)._

_Trust me__. I know what I'm doing. Sort of._

* * *

**ONE: HANG FIRE**

"Shouldn't you just know?"

"Know what?"

"Cemeteries ... where they are."

"Uh ... I don't think so." Faith glanced up from the map, saw the grin forming at the corner of Willow's mouth and smiled back. "Funny." Looking out through the windshield again, she nodded toward a single-story clapboard house about fifty yards along the dirt track. "Pull over, we'll ask that old dude."

The man, about seventy years old maybe, was standing in the front yard, a walking stick in his hand that shook slightly as he leaned on it. He was looking straight at them.

Willow slowed the car down, bringing it to a stop once they reached the edge of the yard, while Faith put the map on top of the dashboard. When the Slayer pulled on the door handle, Willow seemed about to do the same on her side, but stopped as a couple of large black labradors bounded into the yard from an area around the side of the house populated with trees, overgrown grass and weeds. They growled a little, baring teeth, but stayed put as Faith stepped out onto the dirt. Her boots sank a little into the earth, softened by a midday downpour that the afternoon sun was only just beginning to dry away the traces of. She leaned down and looked back into the car. "You stayin' there?"

Willow glanced past her for a second, then shook her head before opening her own door and climbing out.

"Afternoon," said the old guy.

Faith replied with a nod and a friendly smile, which was enough, it seemed, to set the dogs off. One of them barked and, in just a couple of leaps, four muddy paws landed on her thighs and she felt a dry, rough tongue on the back of her right hand.

"Get down ya lil' bastards," the man growled. "I'll whup ya."

The dogs ignored him.

"We're lookin' for the cemetery." Faith patted one of the dogs on the top of its head. The other one had dropped to the ground again and was beginning to nuzzle her crotch. She twisted a little to the side and tried to push the animal away with her other hand.

"I'm warnin' ya." The old guy was still talking to the dogs; Faith wasn't sure if he'd even heard what she'd said.

Then, all of a sudden, the animals whimpered and backed away, cowering. They crawled toward their owner, bellies almost touching the ground, and lay on the dirt at his feet. The man frowned, puzzled, and Faith looked over her shoulder again. Willow gazed back at her with a shrug and Faith rolled her eyes.

The old guy was muttering to himself. "Well, that's the damnedest thing ..."

"The cemetery." Faith turned back to the man. "We're kinda lost."

He looked up at her and squinted, even though the sun was behind him. "Gotta drive to the end of the road here, then around the bend you get to the store. There's another road down a ways, drive about a half a mile along and that's the church."

"Thanks."

"Y'all have a good day now."

"Sure. You too."

He stared after them in the wing mirror as they pulled away, then about thirty yards or so down the road, the labs rose to their feet and started running around and barking again.

"What d'you do to those dogs back there?"

Willow glanced at her. "They looked at you and saw a bigger, badder dog."

"Yeah?" Faith grinned as she took the map from the dashboard and started checking their location again. "Cool as fuck."

* * *

The store was closed. A sign on the door told them that the owner wouldn't be back for another two weeks. Willow grinned back at Faith. She hadn't known small-town convenience store owners really did that outside of the movies.

"I'm hungry." Faith kicked the toe of her boot against one of the porch steps at the front of the store.

"You should have eaten something earlier."

"Yeah, but — wait ... all is not lost."

Willow backed away from the door and stepped down from the porch so she could follow Faith's line of sight. A vending machine stood at the side of the small, wooden building. It looked new, if a little dusty, standing in stark contrast to the store's peeling paint, grimy-looking windows, and the rusty old Coca-Cola sign that would have been swinging stiffly from the roof of the porch if there'd been a breeze to set it in motion.

Faith went around to the side of the store and fished a couple of bills from the pocket of her jeans. She started to smooth them out, but Willow thought they looked just a little too crumpled and she didn't particularly want to see Faith's reaction if she tried to feed them into the machine and it rejected them. She took a couple of newer bills from her wallet and handed them to the Slayer.

"Thanks," Faith said and paused for a second, seemingly not sure what to do, before pushing her own crushed bills into Willow's hand. "What'cha want?" She slid one of the newer notes into the slot.

"Nothing for me, thanks."

"Yeah, well, don't start whinin' later and expect me to split them with ya." Faith glanced at her, the half-sneer she wore undercut by the good-humored gleam in her eye.

Willow smiled back as Faith punched a couple of buttons, but she was only able to relax when she heard the machine buzz quietly and then a muted clatter, as whichever item had been selected hit the tray near the bottom of the machine. More money, more buttons, more noise, then Faith pushed the cover of the tray inward and pulled out the contents.

When they went back to the car, the Slayer opened the passenger door and dropped her haul into the side pocket. Willow reached for the driver's side handle then paused at the sound of another vehicle. An orange Pinto, at least twenty years old, spluttered along the road from the same direction they'd come, slowing down as it approached before coming to a shuddering halt beside them. The elderly woman behind the wheel stuck her head out the open window.

"Store's closed."

Faith nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

"You need gas? There's a station about five miles east along the highway."

"Nah, we're okay. Thanks."

"Okay, then. Y'all have –"

"Oh, wait," Willow said. "Would you mind ... could you take a picture, please?" She turned to Faith, who reached into the car and took out the camera, passing it to her over the roof.

The woman looked a little uncertain for a second, then she nodded. Willow waited as she turned off the engine then got out of the Pinto. She smiled nervously as Willow switched the camera on and handed it to her.

"Just look at the screen at the back there and push the button," Faith said, then took hold of Willow's arm and they stood in front of the store. Faith put her arm around Willow's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as the woman pointed the camera then took the picture.

"One more," said Faith and Willow slipped her arm around the Slayer's waist. The woman, more confident now, took a tiny step back, raised the camera a little higher, and clicked the button again.

When the woman left, Faith took the camera from Willow and looked at the pictures on the viewer. She shook her head slowly from side to side. "Sometimes I think you're the hottest-lookin' chick I ever saw." Faith tilted the screen toward Willow. "But then I see a picture of me ..."

Willow laughed.

On the way to the church, Faith split a bag of M&Ms with her.

* * *

"This doesn't look right." She looked at Willow, then back at the large, empty area of marshy grass and mud, surrounded by trees, that ran around the back and side of the small white building.

"You're sure it said the cemetery was beside the church?"

Faith nodded. "Said it was kinda overgrown, but yeah."

"This isn't overgrown."

"Well, it doesn't look like a fuckin' cemetery either, does it? You wanted the right information, you shoulda fuckin' checked it yourself." She shot a fierce glare at the other woman then, after a pause, sighed and gave what she hoped was a suitably remorseful smile.

Willow looked back at her for a couple of seconds then turned her attention once again to the graveyard-that-wasn't-there.

"You mad at me now?"

"Yes."

"It's hot and it's sticky and, you're right, I shoulda eaten something proper when I had the chance earlier, so I wouldn't be so pissed off and I'm sorry for takin' it out on you." Faith tried another apologetic smile.

Willow looked at her again and, this time, she smiled back.

* * *

The cemetery was on the other side of the wide dirt road that ran alongside the church. It looked like an open field, with no fence or gate or sign to tell anyone what it was. And if it had once been overgrown, it wasn't any longer. Willow wondered if perhaps they were just too used to seeing graveyards at night and that's why they hadn't seen it when they'd driven up to the church.

They made their way through the rows of mostly short headstones and flat slabs of stone with sometimes just a name and a single year engraved. Only a few, as far as she could tell, had been visited anytime recently. She thought only briefly of the last time she'd visited a cemetery during the daytime.

"This the one?" Faith asked, and stopped in front of one of the newer headstones.

As Willow approached, she glanced at the Slayer's back. Her tank-top was damp, the dark patch of sweat on the white cotton shaped almost like a cross ... if you squinted really hard and used your imagination.

"Yeah, that's it," she said, reading the name engraved on the marble.

Shielding her eyes with her hand, Faith squinted around the flat land surrounding them. "I'm thinkin' we should wait until night."

Willow nodded. The highway wasn't that far away and, without the cover of a small building surrounded by trees, there was perhaps too much chance a passing driver might spot them and call the cops.

"So, how about we go get some proper food?" she suggested and Faith grinned.

* * *

A little beer spilled over the rim of the bottle. Faith put the bottle-opener on the night table and licked the foam from the backs of her fingers.

"Everything's so fuckin' slow here. You notice that?"

"I think it's the humidity," Willow nodded, adjusting one of the straps on a blue cotton sundress that had been putting all kinds of not-so-nice thoughts in Faith's head all day.

"You sendin' her one of those pictures?" She looked over Willow's shoulder at the laptop screen. "Tell her we screwed around the side of the store there."

"Before or after the photograph?"

"Uh ... after." She smiled. "We don't look like we just screwed in that picture."

Willow shook her head. "I'm not telling her ... that."

"Bet she'd believe it too." The Slayer started to laugh, but Willow had that look on her face that she got sometimes when Faith took a shot at the Chosen One. With a shrug, she took another drink and watched while Willow sent the email, shut the laptop down and unplugged the cable.

Willow turned round in her chair. "Are you taking a shower?"

"Thought you liked the grave digger look."

"While you were digging, yeah. Now it's just dirt and sweat in a not-very-sexy way. Plus, technically, grave digger-upper."

"So, you're sayin' I gotta get clean _before_ we can get dirty? Man, that's fucked up …"

By the time she took a shower and pulled on some clean jeans and a fresh tee-shirt, Willow was sitting up against the headboard, shoes off, skimming through the last known copy of a hundred and fifty year old book of deep, dark magic, buried with its owner, too dangerous to leave with only six feet of dirt on top.

Faith eyed the door, debated for a second about the cigarettes in her jacket pocket, then dropped onto the bed beside the other woman, tilting her head to glance briefly at the text. "Still think we shoulda left something else for the guy to read."

Willow smiled. "I think he'll cope."

"Okay, but we wake up tonight and some zombie's at the door lookin' for his book, I'm blamin' you."

"I promise to take full responsibility for any zombie-related intrusions."

Faith nodded and shifted along the bed, hands clasped behind her head as she lay back. After a moment, she nudged Willow's leg with her knee. "So, you gonna be done reading soon?"

Willow turned to look at her, eyebrows drawn together. "We did the right thing, I know we did, but words like 'desecration!' and 'grave robbers!' …"

"If you're tryin' to get me hot, need to work on your approach some."

Willow smiled a little, but didn't say anything.

"Okay, I got it." Faith sat up again, took the book from her and closed it over. "Put this someplace safe and put your shoes back on."

* * *

The light from the vending machine flickered suddenly beside them, a temporary break in the flow of energy. Willow's mind flashed to the previous night, sitting on a bathroom counter top in a motel room 400 miles ago on the West Northwest Highway just outside of Dallas, giggling and half-drunk on tequila sours, while the strip light on top of the mirrored panel at her back buzzed noisily above her head. Underwear on the floor, fumbling with the zipper on Faith's jeans, Willow had suddenly decided it would be really awesome to point out that, up until just a few months earlier, they could have been arrested for what they were about to do under so-called sodomy laws that had recently been struck down by the Supreme Court, don'tcha know, and wouldn't it be bizarre and kind of amazing if, after all the stuff she'd done, having another woman go down on her was the thing that landed her in the Big House?

Faith had looked at her with a sort of _Are you f—ing kidding me with this shit?_ expression and, even through a residual haze of tequila and lemon juice, Willow could tell that she was probably ruining the mood. So she stopped talking and, even though she struggled a bit to regain her unfasten-the-Slayer's-pants momentum from before she'd interrupted herself, and Faith got kind of quiet, she … well, she couldn't remember too much after that.

In the morning, she'd woken up alone in bed to the sounds of Katie Couric and Al Roker on the _Today Show_, no sign of Faith, and she'd panicked and started pulling on clothes and looking for her cell phone and car keys and how was she going to explain to Buffy that she'd managed to lose Faith after only _one day_ – and in Texas of all places – because, at some point after they left New Mexico, the prospect of spending that much time alone together had struck her as maybe too new and too different, and maybe it _was_ expecting too much, and so her stupid brain had made things get creepy and awkward really quickly and Faith probably hated her now?

Just as she was putting her jacket on, the door had opened and Faith came into the room with two coffee containers stacked one on top of the other, and a bag of donuts in her teeth that she dropped onto the other unused bed along with the room key. She looked at Willow and her jacket and her car keys, then walked over to the night table, picked up a small square of notepaper Willow hadn't noticed before, and handed it to her: _Thanks for the attempted sodomizing. Back in ten with breakfast._

Willow looked up. "Attempted?"

"Caught me a few years back, I wouldn't have thought twice about takin' advantage. And the fact you can't even fuckin' remember …" Faith raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you were gone," said Willow.

Faith shrugged. "Thought about it. But, believe it or not, up until the extreme weirdness last night, I was having a pretty good time."

Willow frowned doubtfully. "Really?"

"Sure. I mean, the awkwardness in the car was kinda … well, awkward, I coulda done without all the staring out the window you were doin' in the Mexican joint, and I'm pretty sure you were on your way to gettin' arrested in that bar with or without the sodomy." Another shrug. "But, I can think of worse things than gettin' away for a couple days and having a drunk redhead tryin' to get in my pants. 'Course, I can think of better things too, but I figure we just play it by ear, see what other wacky stuff you come up with."

Willow cringed. "Has it been that bad?"

Faith squinted at her. "You been to the bathroom yet?"

Willow frowned at the non sequitur, only then seeing the bandage wrapped around the Slayer's hand, still cradling the takeout coffee. Crossing the floor, Willow entered the other room, gaping at the fist-sized cavity in the mirrored panel, broken right through to the wall behind it; the long cracks weaving out from its center; shards of splintered glass mixed with plaster and dust on the counter. When she turned around, Faith was standing in the doorway, teeth sinking into a grimly twisted lower lip.

"Yeah," said the Slayer. "That'd be a part of the 'thought about it' process."

And now, maybe panic over desecrating graves was merely an excuse for the feel of peeling wooden slats against her back and deep, hard kisses that she was pretty sure were directly responsible for her rapidly accelerating heartbeat as well as rapidly accelerating … other stuff. A hand pushed her dress up, slid along her thigh on its way to doing all kinds of nastydirtywrong things to her – and, God, everything _was_ so slow here – while Aretha Franklin sang on the radio about Jesus and the New Jerusalem and how her soul looked back in wonder, not quite drowning out the noise of unseen crickets and of two black Labradors barking in the distance. Bigger and badder and deep and wet and so, so hot …

Willow sucked in a sudden sharp breath and Faith's hand stopped.

Lowering her head, the Slayer's fingers lightly grazed the patch of grey and purple near the top of Willow's thigh. When she looked up again, there was a flicker of fear in her eyes.

"Did I do that?"

Willow's mind turned again to Dallas. A bandaged fist tangled up in her hair and _those_ kinds of words whispered in her ear while another hand gripped hard and pushed into her flesh.

"It's okay, don't worry about it."

"Christ, I didn't know … I'm sorry."

"It was an accident, it's okay,"Willow insisted. "I told you, I'm not gonna break." She gave the other woman her sternest _I Am the Boss of Me_ face; relieved when, at last, Faith relented with the tiniest nod of her head and an even tinier smile.

"But, you gotta let me know, okay?"

"Promise," Willow said, then kissed her, grinning wide as she leaned back again. "You taste like minty Gatorade."

"Yeah, that'll be the toothpaste and … the Gatorade."

"And earth," Willow said. "I mean, you smell like earth, like when it rains … except, you know … without the rainy part. It's nice."

"This the digging-up-graves thing again?"

"Maybe. The good kind."

"Pervert."

A short eternity later, the kisses turned softer, while careful fingers combed away flecks of however many years-old paint from her hair. Stepping away from the wall, Willow straightened her dress out, while Faith refastened her jeans.

"There, you can cross that off your wish list."

Willow raised an eyebrow. "Not that I'm complainin', but that kinda wasn't _on_ my wish list."

"Well, maybe one of these days, I'll let you get me alone in a room with a bunch of grenades." Faith looked at her, a shadowy smile lurking around the edges as she sat against the hood of the car and lit a cigarette. A cliché, perhaps, but a disturbingly effective one.

"That's an old wish."

The Slayer looked away, long enough for an ad break and the next song to begin. Finally, she tossed the cigarette aside and directed her gaze toward Willow once again. The smile that appeared was warm and tentative.

"Still like me?"

And Willow remembered that shadows were really just the places between the dark and the light.

* * *

The knock on the door came just before sunrise. Not exactly a zombie, but a monster all the same, with cold green-brown eyes, so beautiful, and it wanted the thing that Faith had stolen from them all. She saw the glint of shiny metal in its hand and she opened her mouth to explain that she didn't steal anything, but it wouldn't listen. Instead it grabbed hold of her, drew her close and she felt the cold steel push against her gut, sharp and burning and _ohjesusnonotthisagain_ …

And while the blood seeped through her fingers and spilled onto the dirt at her feet, she remembered that they had two more days if they stuck to the plan. Another three or four if they wanted.

There was no hurry to get back home. Not really.


	2. Two: Jigsaw Puzzle

**TWO: JIGSAW PUZZLE**

The movie was boring. Too many explosions, the plot was stupid, and the love story was _so_ tacked-on.

From the corner of her eye, Dawn glanced at Willow, who looked as bored as Dawn was. Then, leaning forward a little, Dawn tried to make out Faith's expression. It was difficult to tell exactly in the darkness of the theatre, but yet another brightly lit explosion allowed her to see, for a couple of seconds, Faith gazing impassively back at the screen, which told her nothing. She let her eyes travel down to the armrest on Faith's left side, where the Slayer had her pinkie finger wrapped around Willow's. Dawn looked away again and tried to concentrate on the stupid plot.

When she'd first started going to the movies with them, Dawn had sort of expected Faith to be all with the grabby hands, because, well, it was Faith; and she'd tried not to keep giving them sly glances throughout the movies to see if she was right, mostly just in case she _was _right. But, maybe because Dawn was there, or maybe not, Faith had kept her hands to herself. Apart from the pinkie thing. But, when they did go to the movies, Willow never encouraged her to sit between them because, after all, it wasn't like Dawn was a kid anymore.

"Well, that sucked," she said as they made their way out of the auditorium.

"Didn't it!" said Willow. She stopped and pushed the empty popcorn container into the trash. Dawn dropped her almost-empty Coke in after it. Willow looked at Faith, who shook her head.

"I'm not done yet," she said, and took another slurp.

"So, what did you think of the movie?" Dawn asked her as they walked through the lobby toward the front doors.

Faith shrugged. "I've seen better." Then she smiled. "But, that part with the boat was wicked." She pulled on the handle of one of the glass doors and held it open.

"Yeah, it was pretty neat," said Willow, and Faith glanced at Dawn and grinned because sometimes Willow used words like 'neat' without the irony.

* * *

On the way to the car, Faith stopped. "I'll catch you up in a sec."

"What's wrong?" Willow asked. She and Dawn followed Faith's line of sight to where a blonde man across the parking lot was steering a younger, blonder woman by the elbow into the entrance of an alleyway.

"Just wanna check it out."

"Do you need ..." Willow began searching through her bag.

"No, I got it." Faith patted her jacket near the breast pocket.

They watched the Slayer cross the lot and enter the alley.

"Shouldn't we wait?" Dawn asked, as Willow began walking again.

"She'll be fine, Dawnie." But Willow kept glancing back over her shoulder; and when they reached the car, she unlocked the doors, but they waited outside.

They talked about how bad the movie had been, then Willow said, "It's nice. Going to the movies. The three of us." She looked at Dawn, who smiled a little in reply.

"Yeah."

When Faith got back, Willow reached out and wiped away a smudge of ash from the Slayer's forehead with her thumb.

* * *

The diner was busy, but they found a booth near the back. Dawn sat beside Willow, and Faith sat at the other side of the table.

"What'cha havin'?" Faith asked as they studied the menus that the waitress brought over. Tapping her fingers on the formica table surface, her eyes darted back and forth between Dawn and Willow.

"Just a burger," said Dawn.

"Will you split some pizza with me?" Willow asked Faith.

"Sure." Faith signaled for the waitress. Then ordered a double cheeseburger with bacon that came with an order of fries, then a side-order of onion rings and a milkshake.

"Pig much?" said Dawn once the waitress had left.

"Jealous much?" Faith chuckled and looked at Willow. "You're not gonna defend me?"

Willow turned to Dawn. "Blah, blah, Slayer metabolism, blah, blah ..."

"Thanks for nothing, sweetheart." Faith flashed a derisive smile and Willow laughed.

Dawn blinked.

Okay, even if it _had_ been said in a jokey, sarcastic sort of way, she was pretty sure it was the first time she'd heard Faith call Willow something like that. She looked at Willow to check her reaction, but Willow was just sipping her root beer and looking around the diner, so it didn't seem like anything majorly significant had just happened. Then again, maybe they called each other stuff like that all the time when they were alone. Sarcastic, ironic stuff, because, frankly, the possibility of Faith saying something like that with any degree of sincerity had a little too much 'probable sign of the apocalypse' going for it.

"I'm going to the bathroom," said Willow and slid out of the booth. Dawn watched Faith's eyes follow her as she headed across the black and white checkered floor and disappeared through the door that led to the restrooms.

"So ... what's new, Dawn?" Faith picked up a fork, looked at it for a second, then put it down again. "Any cute guys you got your eye on?"

"No, not really." Well, there _was_ one guy at school she kind of liked maybe just a little, but she hadn't even told Buffy about him. And she wasn't sure if Faith was _really_ interested or not. She was probably just being New Faith, who was sort of like Old Faith before Old Faith went psycho, but less obvious somehow, although, at the time, Dawn hadn't really realized how obvious she was. And now she was holding pinkies in the movies with Willow, which meant she had to ask Dawn questions about boys and school and music and stuff.

Sometimes Dawn remembered – in the way that Dawn remembered certain earlier parts of her life – some of the things Willow used to say about Faith. Or she'd wonder if Willow ever recalled having a knife held to her throat. And she'd think that Faith probably didn't know how lucky she was that she'd been safe in jail, miles away, when Willow went all ... well ... because Faith would have probably been _really_ near the top of Willow's hit list if she'd been in Sunnydale. And Dawn would get just a little worried that she was never ever going to meet anyone normal and have a normal relationship, because that just wouldn't be normal, would it?

(And, occasionally, Dawn would remember that practically everyone she knew had tried to kill everyone else at some point, and that included both Buffy and Willow trying to kill Dawn. But, maybe strangely, that didn't make her get _more_ worried about her relationship prospects. Just the same amount of worried.)

The waitress came with their food and Dawn was pretty sure that Faith looked down the inside of her uniform when she leaned over to put Dawn's burger on the table, although she couldn't be a hundred percent certain.

"Uh, could you keep that in ..." Faith motioned to the pizza, then Willow came out of the restroom and Faith said, "Forget it, it's okay."

"You sure, hon'?" the waitress checked.

"Uh-huh," said Faith. "Thanks."

When Willow sat down again, Faith ate half of Willow's pizza, and everything on her own plate including the salad part, and all of the onion rings because Dawn and Willow didn't want any. Then she ordered pie with ice cream for dessert.

"You really can put it away," said the waitress with a smile.

And Faith smiled and nodded back. Except she was looking. Right. At. The. Waitress's. Breasts. Not in a letchy way – it was more like the blank sort of expression she'd been wearing when she'd watched the movie earlier – but it was still kind of gross. Then Faith seemed to realize what she was doing and coughed and looked down at the pie. And even though Dawn had been neither the looker nor the lookee, she felt her face turn red because she was sure Faith had just screwed up in a pretty major way and she felt kind of bad for her. But when Dawn sneaked a glance at Willow, Willow just looked kind of amused.

Dawn rolled her eyes. Weirdos.

* * *

When they left the diner, they walked around town for a while, since it was a pretty nice night. Willow walked with Dawn, while Faith walked just a little bit ahead, scuffing the heels of her boots along the sidewalk.

As they passed a shoe store, Dawn stopped and pointed to a pair of Italian leather pumps in the window. "Those are kinda nice."

Willow nodded then looked at Dawn with a grin. "For you or me?"

"Either," said Dawn, but she was really thinking more for her – Dawn. They _were_ pretty expensive, but maybe she could get Buffy to buy them for herself ... in Dawn's size and in a color Dawn liked. "Or Buffy," she added, just in case Willow mentioned them to her.

They turned away and looked down the street, where Faith stood in front of the window of another store. Which, as they got closer, they realized wasn't really a store, although it sold jewelry and scarves and things. It was more a tattoo parlor that did piercings as well.

Dawn laughed. "You're not thinking of getting something pierced are you?"

"Nah." Faith winked at Dawn and glanced at Willow and said, "I don't need that kinda help."

Dawn could tell Willow was trying not to smile when she frowned disapprovingly at Faith and, this time, it didn't take Dawn a full fifteen seconds to get the joke.

On the way to the car, Faith smoked a cigarette and Dawn thought about the onion rings too and tried not to look grossed out. But then, after she finished smoking, Faith popped a Certs Freshmint drop in her mouth and gave Willow a sort of really-pleased-with-herself smile.

And Dawn just _knew_ that, even without a rich, _actual proper_ girlfriend, if Willow wanted a pair of Italian leather shoes, she wouldn't have to get Buffy to buy them in the wrong size or even buy them herself if she didn't really want to, because Faith would probably buy them for her.

Okay, maybe Dawn _didn't_ know, because she had no idea how much any of them got paid by the Council, and also sometimes Faith made bitchy half-jokes about the amount of money Buffy seemed to spend on clothes – or she did until Buffy pointed out that leather pants were hardly _not_ expensive.

But she liked to think Faith would do that.

* * *

The ride home was kind of quiet. Faith drove, Willow sat in the passenger seat, and Dawn sat in the back. Willow kept yawning and she turned up the air conditioning a little, but by the time they were just over half the way there, she was asleep. Dawn leaned forward between the seats and Faith turned on the radio and they talked about music for a while.

When they pulled into the parking area in front of the house, Faith turned off the engine then twisted around in her seat and Dawn told her that she'd had a fun evening and Faith said that, yeah, it had been fun even if the movie had sucked except for the part with the boat.

Then she tilted her head toward Willow. "I'll wake her up. You should just go inside."

"You sure?"

Faith nodded and Dawn got out of the car and closed the door quietly, even though giving the car door a good slam was probably a more helpful thing to do if you actually wanted to wake someone up.

When she went inside, Buffy was in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar with a cup of hot something and a magazine in front of her. She looked up. "D'you have a good time?"

"Movie sucked, but, yeah, it was a pretty nice night."

Buffy nodded and smiled a little as Dawn pulled up a stool on the opposite side of the bar and sat down. Dawn could hear the front door of the house open and close again, then footsteps and quiet voices that got louder for a second, then quieter again as they made their way down the back hallway.

Dawn leaned a little closer across the counter. "Plus, you know, they did that pinkie thing again, and Faith was okay, I mean, in a good way – kinda gross more than once, but nothing major, and I saw a pair of shoes you'd —"

"Dawn, you don't have to do this."

"I know. It's just …" Dawn paused. "I thought you'd want to know, that's all."

Her sister didn't say anything for a moment, then finally, she gave Dawn another small smile, less labored this time, but still not quite _happy_.

"Thanks," she said and turned her attention back to the magazine.

Dawn waited. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Buffy looked up again, lifted her cup from the counter, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"So, pinkies again, huh?"


	3. Three: Connection

**THREE: CONNECTION**

"... makin' our way along, takin' in the sights. I mean, you gotta see it. Every second bar's a strip joint and —"

"Just 'cause that's ... well, that's what it's like there."

Faith looked at Willow. "You gonna let me tell the story?"

"I just wanted to, you know ... context. I mean, it wasn't like we were in a 'bad part of town' or anything."

"I think they already got that." Faith cast a glance across the dining room table at Buffy, Xander and Dawn. "You got that, right?"

Buffy and Dawn nodded.

"Yeah, don't interrupt the story, Will," said Xander, then looked back at Faith. "So, strip joints ..."

"Never went near 'em myself, but Will —"

Willow gasped. "No, I didn't!"

Faith laughed. "Jeez, I'm kiddin'." Then, while Willow reached over to pick up a handful of peanuts, Faith mouthed something to the others and nodded.

"There's a lot to see down there," said Willow, sitting back again. "I mean, apart from all the — what are you all smiling at?"

"Just enjoying the story," said Xander.

Buffy fired an irritated glance in his direction then looked at Faith. "Maybe we can do the naked chicks another time? Now just tell us —"

Xander, Dawn and Willow giggled, while Faith almost spat her mouthful of beer across the table.

"Why, B! I'm shocked! I didn't think you were that kinda girl."

Buffy made a face, then Willow gave Faith's arm a nudge.

"Oh, wait, tell them about that thing."

"What thing?" Faith looked at Willow, still laughing.

"That thing with the guy ... you know, when we went to that store."

"Hold it, while I try to crack the code here," Faith said to the others, then turned back to Willow. "You gotta gimme more to work with."

Willow beckoned for her to lean closer and whispered something in her ear.

"Oh, yeah." Faith looked across the table again. "We gotta tell ya about this thing that happened when we went to this voodoo store on, what, the first night?"

Willow nodded.

"This isn't the same night as the stripper story?" Xander checked.

"That story isn't _about_ strippers," said Buffy. She looked at Willow with a frown. "Is it?"

"No." Willow scowled at Xander.

"Yeah, Xander, Buffy wants to 'do' the naked chicks later, remember?" said Faith. They looked at each other and sniggered.

Buffy sighed.

"Okay ... sorry, B." Faith cleared her throat, but she was still grinning. "Right, so, on the first night ..."

"The night before the _not_-Stripper story," Willow supplied.

"... we go to this voodoo store. You know, it's full of crosses and stuff made out of bones and shit ..."

"Gee, it feels like I'm actually there," said Xander.

"Oh, and you've got to know that Faith's wearing her jean jacket," said Willow.

"Which one?" asked Dawn.

"Uh ...the blue one," said Faith. "But that's not the important part. You just gotta know that I'm wearin' a jacket."

Buffy, Xander and Dawn nodded.

"So, we go to this store and I'm wearin' my jacket and we're lookin' around and the dude behind the counter's all with the _ooh,_ _we'ze got theeze charms an' sheeet_ ..."

"Why was he talking like that?" asked Dawn.

"'Cause that's how they talk down there," said Faith. She looked at Willow. "That's how they talk down there, right?"

Willow nodded and picked up her beer. "Mm-hm." Faith missed the look she gave the others.

"So, he's makin' his pitch and we're, like, _yeah, whatever_. I mean, there was some funky lookin' crap there and —"

"You bought that chain," said Willow.

"Well, yeah, but not 'cause it was gonna ward off the spirits of ... I dunno ... dead drag queens. I just thought it looked kinda cool."

"Can we see it?" asked Dawn.

"It's still packed away," said Faith. "I can show you later."

"Well, what does it look like?" Buffy asked. She reached for some peanuts, then frowned at the empty bowl.

Faith tilted her chair onto its back legs for a couple of seconds, chewing her lip. "Lemme think ..." She let the chair fall forward again. "Well, kinda —"

"Hold it," said Xander, standing up. "While you guys are talking about jewelry, I'll refresh the ... refreshments. Who wants what?"

Everyone placed their orders.

"... and more peanuts," said Buffy, handing him the empty bowl. Xander went through to the kitchen and Buffy turned back to look at Faith. "So, the chain ..." she prompted.

"Well, the chain part looks kinda like a chain, I guess ..."

"Oooh," said Dawn.

Faith flashed a sardonic smile. "That's not the cool part, _Dawn_. 'Cause it's got this round leather bit ..."

"Like a pendent," added Willow.

"... with this big, creepy-lookin' shiny silver skull shape on it." Faith cast her glance back and forth between Buffy and Dawn and folded her arms, nodding slowly.

Buffy and Dawn's faces were blank.

"Well ... I _guess_ that's cool," said Buffy finally.

Faith was still nodding. "Yeah ... I mean, Will likes it."

"Mm-hm," nodded Willow. Once again, Faith missed the look she sent across the table.

"So, did I miss anything?" Xander said, coming back into the dining room.

"Not really," Dawn muttered, as he set the wooden tray on the table and passed round the beers, plus a Coke for Dawn, and put the re-filled peanut bowl in the center.

"So, what happened in the store?" Xander sat down again.

"Well, like I said, the dude's tryin' to be all, like, wicked-voodoo-mojo-magic-charm guy. Probably never saw a vamp in his life ..."

"Or a zombie," suggested Dawn. "'Cause, you know, they do a lot of zombie rituals down there."

Faith nodded. "Right. But, I mean, you stick that many drinkin' holes in the one place, you're gonna get people seein' ghosts and vamps and gettin' up to all kindsa spooky crap everywhere, so they've got a good market. And you gotta see some of those vamp wannabes, man. All dressed up like somethin' out of one of those books ..."

"You know, all gothy, like those Anne Rice novels," said Willow.

"I'm tellin' ya, there's probably more of 'em down there than fags and frat boys."

Dawn winced a little and Buffy glanced uneasily at Willow, who was looking at Faith with a raised eyebrow.

Faith gave her an innocent, wide-eyed expression in reply.

"So, the story, Faith ..." Buffy suggested.

"Right, okay, we're in the store and we're just about to split and the guy says, _you'ze gottee markeen on your arm_ ... all spooky and shit ... _an' you'ze _—"

"Huh?" Buffy said.

"Faith?" Willow said gently. "Maybe you should just use your own voice?"

"How's that?" Faith looked across the table at the confused faces of the other three. "Oh, yeah, kinda takes gettin' used to, I guess. The dude was sayin' that I had a mark on my arm – meanin' the inkwork, right? But then he says it's not there anymore."

"And remember, she's wearing her jacket," said Willow. "So, you know, he hasn't even seen it."

"So, I'm all, _no way, dude, _and he's all, _you'ze don' ... _sorry. He's all, _you don't have it anymore_. Like one of those corny old movies with some creepy old guy in it. So, I take off the jacket and, swear to God, the fuckin' tat's gone."

Willow was nodding.

"So, where did it go?" Buffy asked.

Faith shrugged. "All's I know, I took off my jacket and it wasn't there."

"But it _is_ still there," said Dawn, motioning to the design etched on the top half of Faith's right arm.

"Well, that's 'cause he put it back before we left the store."

Clasping his hands together, Xander leaned on the table. "So, it was some kind of spell?" he asked. "Like a glamour or something?"

"Nah, Will said there was no magic goin' on." Faith turned to Willow for confirmation.

Willow seemed unable to decide whether it was more appropriate to agree by nodding or shaking her head and ended up doing a combination of both. "Definitely no magic."

Buffy glanced from Faith to Willow then back to Faith. "So, you're saying it was a trick, then. An illusion."

Faith shrugged. "Well, yeah. I guess so. But, you know ... it was pretty cool."

Buffy, Xander and Dawn all nodded and shrugged and looked at each other.

"Sooo ..." said Xander. "Back to the stripper story ..."

* * *

They were sitting at a table in the middle of a bar at two o'clock in the morning with a college professor on sabbatical, a guy who ran the I.T. network at one of the casinos on the river, and an electrical goods salesman just back from a selling trip.

Which, Willow supposed, probably wasn't too bad as far as weird-things-you-thought-you'd-never-find-yourself -doing went. All things being relative.

They'd left the hotel just before seven, had dinner in a restaurant where a band made up of four grey-haired men played jazz tunes, then they'd barhopped from one crowded, smoky, noisy, sweaty place to another. They were now having 'one last drink' in a smaller, quieter bar before heading back to the hotel.

It had been a long day – fun, but long. Willow was tired and she suspected Faith was a little too. The no small amount of alcohol the Slayer had indulged in since they left the hotel earlier that evening, plus the drinks during lunch, was probably beginning to take its toll as well.

But this _was_ a vacation of sorts (the tip Giles had gotten about a seer who could help with the latest Cleveland emergency had been a bust – an old woman with a headscarf, four cats and a pack of tarot cards does not necessarily a mystic prophet make; and even the vague stories they'd been hearing since they arrived in town about some recent 'mysterious' after-hours disappearances around the bars and clubs had come to nothing), and so they were supposed to stay up until the small hours and squeeze as much drinking, eating and 'taking it all in' out of the trip as possible.

Willow watched Faith hold court with the computer guy, the professor, and the salesman, in her animated element, telling all kinds of suitably adjusted anecdotes about the 'security-type firm, mostly based in Cleveland' for which the two of them worked. Every now and then, she'd turn to Willow for assistance when she was struggling to come up with an alternative version of events, apparently forgetting that Willow wasn't a great liar (a big liar, Willow thought, casting her mind back to certain other times in her life, but not necessarily a good one, especially at short notice). Then, when Willow gazed back at her, wide-eyed and helpless, Faith would turn back to the men and, it seemed, simply come out with the first thing that popped into her head – whether it made sense or not. The men didn't seem to notice, or else they just didn't mind.

Willow studied the trio while they listened, captivated, laughing and frowning and making _mmm_-ing noises in all the right places. On her left at the round, wooden table, sat the computer guy, in his thirties maybe, with dirty-blonde hair, blue eyes and a little stubble on his chin that might have been a goatee beard; next to him, the professor, forty-ish with a squishy, boyish face and a brown hairpiece that looked far too strange to be worn out of vanity; and then the salesman, also in his forties, with graying hair, a leathery complexion and a baseball cap that he kept picking up off the table, tapping against his other hand, and putting down again. All local, they'd arrived at the bar at slightly different times, but seemed to know one another, if not outside in the real world, then at least as casual drinking companions.

("Who's that?" Willow had asked a couple of weeks before, when Faith had exchanged nods with a guy they passed in a supermarket aisle.

Faith shrugged. "Just some guy I know from that bar I go to sometimes."

"Oh. What's his name?"

Another shrug.

"What's he do?"

"I dunno. Some kinda project-retail-something-or-other."

Willow had laughed. "Well, what d'you talk about?"

"Jeez, I dunno. Just ... stuff, I guess."

Willow didn't really understand the 'drinking buddy' thing.)

Now the conversation had turned to their vacation and Faith was telling them about the 'disappearing tattoo'. At the story's conclusion, they all made appropriate _oooh_-ing sounds, then made Faith pull her jacket down over her shoulder so they could see the tattoo in question. A further round of _oooh_-ing commenced.

"Hey, I know a couple of tricks," said the salesman. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out a pack of cards. While he shuffled them, Faith turned to Willow and spoke in a low voice:

"You okay there? You tired?"

"No, I'm fine," said Willow, stifling a yawn. She smiled, a little wider when Faith reached under the table and gave her hand a squeeze.

"We'll head back soon. I'm kinda beat myself."

The salesman finished shuffling the deck and glanced between Willow and Faith before fanning the cards out, then holding them across the table toward Willow.

"Pick one, don't tell me."

Willow had to stretch her arm a little to reach the cards. She plucked one from near the middle and drew it toward her, face down. "Can I look?"

The salesman nodded as he began shuffling the deck again. Willow glanced at the card – the eight of clubs – then put it face down on the table. The man put the newly rearranged deck down and tapped the top of it a couple of times. He looked at her.

"Six of diamonds, right?"

Willow smiled and shook her head. "No, it's ..." She turned over the card in front of her and, sure enough, there was the six of diamonds. She looked at him, startled.

"And look what we have here …" He turned over the card at the top of the deck and lay the eight of clubs on the table.

"That's the one I picked!" Willow looked round the table. Everyone nodded, impressed.

"I didn't know you knew magic," said the computer guy to the salesman. Willow didn't miss the sly little smirk Faith gave her.

"Well, it's amazing what you can teach yourself when you're stuck in a motel room night after night." The salesman gathered up the cards, shuffled them again, then held them out to Faith. "This time, I want you to pick the same number of cards – from anywhere in the pack – that the minute hand on your friend's watch is at."

Faith narrowed her eyes a little, glanced down at the deck, then turned to Willow, who pushed up the sleeve of her shirt and looked down at her watch ... that wasn't there.

"Oh," said Willow.

"What's wrong?" asked the professor.

"My watch is ... kinda gone."

"Shit," said Faith, but she was grinning.

The salesman dug around in his jacket pocket again and pulled out Willow's watch. He held it up by the strap, still fastened, swinging it slowly from side-to-side.

"Hey," said Willow, laughing, as he handed it back. She undid the small fastening and wrapped it back around her wrist.

Faith nudged her. "Sucker."

Willow started to scowl at the Slayer, then noticed something. She smiled instead and let her eyes rest just below Faith's collarbone. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean —" Faith followed Willow's gaze. "Fuck."

The salesman reached into another pocket and held the chain up, again letting it swing slowly, like a hypnotist with a timepiece, the light from the strip bulb above the bar to Willow's left glinting off the reflective skull shape. Faith looked at the pendent, a bemused half-grin on her face. The salesman stilled the pendulum-like motion of the chain, leaving the pendent hanging.

"Shit, how d'you do that?" asked the computer guy as he leaned forward on the table to pick up his drink. The professor was shaking his head slowly, a thin, amused smile on his lips.

"More than you need to know, buddy." The salesman chuckled as he handed the pendent back.

Willow turned to Faith, about to return the 'sucker' remark, but she stopped, noting with concern that the Slayer's countenance had changed. The grin was gone and her eyes had darkened with something that looked a lot like severe displeasure. Willow felt a familiar sense of dread wash over her. _For God's sake, it was just a silly sleight-of-hand trick_, she wanted to say. _It doesn't mean you're stupid_.

Then, all of a sudden, the expression was gone, replaced with an almost too-relaxed smile and tilt of the head. Faith lit a cigarette and leaned back in her chair. "It's gettin' kinda late," she said. "What time were you guys thinkin' about headin' back to the old homesteads?"

"Oh, not for a while yet," said the salesman. He was shuffling the deck again.

"Another couple of hours won't hurt," said the professor.

"Yeah, I'm on a late shift tomorrow," said the computer guy with a shrug.

"You're not thinking about leaving yet, are you?" asked the salesman.

Faith glanced quickly at Willow. "Nah, we're okay."

Willow tried not to look irritated, to show her disappointment. Instead, she watched, her concern growing, as Faith bit down into her lower lip, fingers tapping agitatedly on the table surface as she turned ... _something_ over in her mind. The salesman finished shuffling the cards and had just started to point the deck at the professor, when Faith reached out and put her hand over his, bringing the pack down onto the table again. A slow grin spread across the Slayer's face, the kind Willow hadn't seen in ... how long? It was the type of expression that, on anyone else, might look stupid, an ineffectual attempt to look 'bad'. On Faith, it was a look that held not quite the promise of impiety. More the threat of it.

The Slayer raised her eyes, now gleaming darkly with a hint of ominous mischief that Willow suspected only she was aware of, and looked at the salesman.

"Those are cute tricks and all," she said. "But, how about we show you some _real_ magic?"

* * *

"Stand up," said Faith.

The salesman grinned. "What'cha gonna do?"

"Not me," said Faith, stabbing a thumb at Willow. "_She's_ gonna lift you off the floor."

Willow tried not to stare, tried not to look as though her mouth had just dried up in horrible, crawling anxiety. She looked at Faith. Who never asked Willow to do magic, except in a 'maybe Willow could do something' way when they were talking strategy with Buffy and the others. Who respected it, wasn't afraid of it, but just let her get on with it unless they were training or Willow specifically requested her participation. Who was now asking Willow to use her powers for the sake of some stupid pissing contest.

The professor studied Willow, smiling that thin, amused smile again. The computer guy just looked doubtful. The salesman said, "She must be stronger than she looks."

"Nah, she's not gonna _lift_ lift ya. She's not even gonna touch ya."

A silent chorus of raised eyebrows met Willow's nervous glance around the table.

She could feel her stomach turn a little queasy. Okay, Faith was tired, maybe even just this side of not-quite-sober, but what she was doing ... it wasn't _right_. Willow was sure she could actually feel her heart sink. Well, she supposed, it had been nice while it lasted. She could almost see Buffy's sympathetic look, colored with maybe just a hint of the unspoken 'I told you so' that she'd try to hide, but wouldn't quite manage; Xander's 'well, big surprise there' expression; Dawn's tiny shrug, because it was never really what she'd wanted anyway ...

"I don't know ..." Willow said in a small voice.

And then she felt it.

Under the table.

Faith's left hand on her thigh.

And not one of the usual Faith's-hand-on-her-thigh things either. It wasn't the kind that left little doubt as to what was on the Slayer's mind, serving as a less-than-subtle prelude to the kinds of things that Willow tried not to think about when, for instance, she was driving. And it wasn't the other unassuming, absent-minded kind that Faith herself was probably only dimly aware of. No, this was different. Like Faith was ... asking her for something?

She looked at the Slayer, felt the pressure on her thigh increase.

"Go on, show 'em," Faith said and smiled.

And Willow realized what she was asking for:

_Trust me._

She stood up, ignoring the part of her brain that still didn't know what the hell was going on, the part that was telling her to drag Faith to the bathroom and demand to know what she was playing at. Instead, she motioned to a space on the floor a short distance from the table and smiled at the salesman.

"There?" he checked. He scraped back his chair and stood on the spot near the center of the floor in front of the bar. The eight or nine other patrons scattered around the barroom turned their heads, eyeing them with curiosity and amusement.

Willow glanced back at Faith, just for a moment, then turned back to the salesman. "Just relax. It won't hurt, and I won't let you fall."

He grinned back at her, raising his eyebrow in the direction of the professor and computer guy. _Do you believe this chick? _maybe. Or something more suggestive, some sort of innuendo she'd accidentally supplied him with.

She recited the incantation silently and, without really meaning to, felt herself smile as, slowly, the man started to rise, his eyes widening in surprise, maybe even shock. When he was about a foot from the floor, she brought the ascent to a halt, saw his head drop and arms start to flail as he panicked and tried to keep his balance. But, she kept his arms by his side; he'd thank her later for helping him not look like a jerk in front of his buddies.

Willow kept her focus on him, mostly for want of something better to do – cheap magic was probably even easier than the most simple card trick – while she listened to the voices around her.

_("Holy shit!" ... "What the fuck?" ... "It's like that guy on TV." ... "Jeeesus.")_

And then, a round of applause.

She looked over her shoulder, saw Faith slouched down in her chair, cigarette in hand, watching the reaction of the barroom with a tiny smirk on her face. Willow pushed out the sudden, unwanted thought that maybe she'd made a mistake giving her what she'd asked for, relieved when finally Faith looked at her, the smirk still in place, and gave her a short nod.

Willow turned back to the salesman, bringing him down gently onto the floor again. A fresh burst of clapping erupted around the room.

"Jesus Christ," the salesman gasped, the grin returning. "How the hell did you do that?"

"Um, practice?" Willow shrugged, thankful for the distraction when Faith stood up and crushed her cigarette out in the ashtray, grinning like a kid at Christmas.

"Not bad, right? And this next one's even better." The Slayer made her way around the table and pressed her hand onto the computer guy's shoulder. "How about it?"

He looked up at her. "Oh, I don't know ..."

"No, go on," said the salesman. "It's a little 'out there', but no harm done." He patted himself down as he headed back to his chair, still grinning from ear to ear.

Faith winked at the computer guy, still lodged in his seat. "C'mon, it won't hurt," she said, husky and low; so transparently coy, Willow had to stop herself from rolling her own eyes.

The computer guy glanced around the room, all eyes on him. Waiting. Finally, with a shrug, he rose from his chair. Faith took his elbow and steered him to the spot on the floor where the salesman had stood. She looked at Willow.

"You know what to do, right?" The Slayer moved her hand toward the inside of her jacket and Willow blinked.

Because she only just got it then. She swallowed through the sudden tightness in her throat as an odd sense of disquiet swept over her. There'd been no big connection between them that had told her what was going on. No sense of simply just_ knowing_, of _feeling_ what it was Faith had been planning.

Then she remembered the hand on her thigh and she smiled.

"Yeah, I know."

"Count of three," said Faith. "Okay?"

* * *

Willow made the cloud a sort of rust color. A little darker than the dust that exploded between them, but it did the job of disguising the ash just fine. She threw in a few sparkles too, just to make it look pretty, and when the cloud cleared, there was a second of silence, then the applause and exclamations started up again. Louder than the last round, with more expletives too.

Faith picked up her cigarettes and pendent and dropped them into her pocket.

"Where'd he go?" the salesman asked, eyes wide. The professor was nodding, confused, beside him.

"Guess that'd be one of those _more than you need to know_ things," Faith said. She took hold of Willow's arm and they left the bar.

Willow yawned as they walked back to the hotel. She'd save the _stupid-arrogant-reckless-what-the-hell-did-you-thi nk-you-were-doing-even-if-it-worked-out-okay_ lecture for morning.

* * *

Willow took the pendent from the inside pocket of the suitcase and held it out to Faith, a flash of guilt catching her as she remembered debating, just for a second, whether or not to accidentally leave it on the night table in the hotel. But, Faith had expected her to pack it away so she had.

The Slayer wound the chain around her fingers and studied the emblem. A crease appeared on her brow.

"I guess it _is_ kinda ugly," she said with a shrug. She looked at Willow and smiled, the tiniest, knowing gleam in her eye. "Don't ya think?"


	4. Four: Tops

**FOUR: TOPS**

Willow wanted to go to the Museum of Space History.

Faith's lip curled anxiously. "A museum? Didn't we go to one of those already this month?"

"But, spaceships and rockets and … and I think there might be a movie about non-human astronaut primates and, really, who doesn't like space chimps?"

The Slayer narrowed her eyes in thought. "Good point."

Afterwards, on their way home, they stopped at the park and sat on a bench at the side of the path and ate sno-cones.

("Here, got you the gayest one they had."

"Faith, there's no such thing as — oh. Yeah, that _is_ pretty gay.")

The Slayer stretched her legs out in front of her. "So, you plannin' on going where no wicked-powerful Wiccan has gone before?"

"I should probably focus on exploring my potential here on earth before I try to magically breach any final frontiers."

The other woman raised an eyebrow. "Thought you already 'explored your potential' earlier this year."

Willow looked at her.

"C'mon, you walked into that one."

Willow continued: "Anyway … that teleportation to Salvador last week? I had a headache for the rest of the day. But, someday, maybe."

"Well, speaking of exploring … stuff, I was thinkin', if you want, tomorrow I let you kick my ass …"

Willow grinned. "I almost _didn't_ kick your ass last week."

"Just means you gotta step it up. Anyhow, what I'm sayin' is, I've got some free time tomorrow, so I'm thinkin' we do that, followed by a little target practice with the mojo, then after dark we head out, see how it goes under real conditions."

A mild panic seized Willow. Definitely mild – which was good – but, panic nonetheless. "Are you sure? I mean, what if I can't control myself or —"

"And that might be a problem if I was takin' you to a nuns and puppies convention. You go all Big Bad on a few vamps, we just try again sometime. It's not the end of the world."

A small child ran past them, mouth and hands sticky with chocolate, squealing and laughing at something up ahead. Willow pictured him lying on the grass nearby, head split open, staining the scorched, blackened earth beneath him a sickly, rusty red.

"It could be."

"Tell you what, if I think you're gonna start an apocalypse, I'll give ya a hug."

Willow felt a disapproving glower pinch her features. "As much as that might be worth starting an apocalypse for, could you maybe take this a bit more seriously?"

"Hey, I've got a couple bruised ribs from the last workout says just how seriously I'm takin' it."

Willow's expression softened into an apologetic grimace. "Sorry." Biting into her sno-cone – _yep, pretty darn gay_ – she cast a swift glance toward the scene of her most recent ghoulish fantasy, before turning her attention back to the woman beside her. "I told Kennedy to kill me if I went all black-eyed badness during the Slayer spell."

"She wouldn't have done it. Girl woulda cut off her right arm before she'd hurt you like that."

"If I_ had_ gone all Evil-Me, she might not have had a right arm _to_ cut off."

"Probably wouldn't have been so good at the hugging either."

Willow paused, not sure if she _really_ wanted to know or not. But, then, the inevitable sleepless night spent _thinking_ and _wondering_ if she left the question unspoken wasn't exactly a thrilling prospect either. She took a quiet, slightly wavering, breath. "Would you have done it? Killed me, I mean. If I'd asked?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Willow eyed her and she shrugged.

"Can't remember if I still didn't like you too much back then."

"And now?"

"Only if you asked nicely." Faith let go of an impatient-sounding sigh. "Look, fact is, you coulda buried me any time over the last couple months and you haven't, not even after _The Last Fudgsicle Incident_ two weeks ago."

Willow nodded despondently, remembering. "I _really_ wanted that fudgsicle."

"Yet, here I am, still walking and breathing and eating a way-less-gay-than-yours sno‑cone. You're gonna be fine, Willow."

Willow nodded again, more decisive and positive this time. "You're right. I can be a total badass without the badness part. So, we work on the control thingy outside of a controlled environment. What happens after that?"

"Uh … then we go home and boink like space chimps."

"I don't remember _that_ from the movie. Anyway, I was kinda talkin' about longer term, if things go well with the control and stuff?"

"Well, I figure we get that nailed down, you can explore whatever the hell you want, no fear."

"Maybe you can help me with the teleportation thingy sometime," Willow suggested. "Help keep me focused?"

"Sure," replied Faith with a shrug.

A hundred yards or so across the grass on the far side of the path, a teenager and two younger kids were playing with a kite. Willow watched for a moment, eyes following the string attached to the reel grasped tightly in the smaller child's hands, up to where the brightly-colored kite wing drifted aimlessly against the cloudless, blue sky. Pretty and safely tethered, but ultimately there was no direction, no purpose.

Willow looked at the Slayer, a grin stretching wide across her face. "You're like … my launch pad."

The other woman's brow creased. "Huh?"

"Like those rockets this morning. The launch pads."

"What the hell are you talkin' about now?"

For a brief moment, Willow considered sharing, but quickly decided against it, responding with a shrug and dismissive shake of her head instead.

Sno-cones done, they headed along the path back toward the parking lot.

Faith grinned. "Yeah, those rockets _were_ pretty awesome."

Willow smiled back. Launch pads versus kite strings? Faith would never let Kennedy live it down.


	5. Five: Everything Is Turning to Gold

**FIVE: EVERYTHING IS TURNING TO GOLD**

They woke up mid-morning in St. Louis, after Willow performed a spell the day before to stop the come-to-life Old Testament mosaics in the Cathedral Basilica wreaking havoc across the city. According to Willow, watching the Angel of Harmony statues lead the mosaics back to the church had pretty much guaranteed the spell's place in the zero-points-for-the-title list in her head: _Coolest Magic Things I Have Done, Volume Three_.

("The pencils?"

"Yeah, 'cause … cool at the time.")

Vi had gotten a bit emotional in a New Vi sort of way ("This. Is. Awesome."), Rona was impressed, after some initial Rona-like cynicism ("Yeah, make the black guy do all the work."), and Faith had leaned close and said in a low voice, "Fuck, Will, if I'd known you could do stuff like this, I'd have probably been boinking you a lot sooner."

Which, true or not in the big picture, was true enough so that Faith was still half-thinking about it the next morning. Hard not to. That kind of magic not only left traces, but add a situation where Willow could do something clever then _tell_ her how clever it was and you could practically taste the energy for days after.

"Holy fucking Christ." Faith paused what she was doing, looked up at Willow for a second, then rolled off the bed and pulled on the previous night's jeans and sweater. "This better be fucking important …" Crossing the room, she waited until the other woman was out of bed with a nightshirt pulled on then opened the door. "What's up?"

"Um, Buffy's been trying to call you. She says your phones are switched off?" Vi looked past Faith's shoulder. "Hi, Willow."

"Hey, there."

"Did Buffy say _why_ she was calling?"

"Uh, she just wanted to know what time you guys are getting back today? I told her you're getting the late afternoon flight and — oh, your room's only got one bed."

Faith arched an eyebrow. "Well, isn't that something?"

Vi blinked. "Oh," she said for a second time, then looked over Faith's shoulder again and gave Willow a small, nervous smile.

"So … anything else?"

The younger Slayer shook her head. "Nope. I'll just … leave now."

When she was gone, Faith closed the door over and turned round. "She did that on purpose."

"Who? Vi? I don't think she realized we —"

"No, Buffy. What time we're gettin' back? Clearly, she shoulda just flashed the Bat-Signal for that one."

Willow sighed. "Faith, it's almost ten-thirty. I'm pretty sure she didn't do anything _on purpose_. I mean, paranoid much?"

"Isn't there some old saying about that? _It's not paranoid if it's Buffy Summers and you're doing her best pal_?" Faith watched, eyes narrowing with concern as Willow started to pick up her own clothes and put them on. "Where the hell are _you_ going?"

"I need caffeine before the full-on rant commences and the coffee in here isn't that great."

"Aw, Christ, don't be like that —"

"Like what? Buffy's been really nice." Willow paused. "And _doing her best pal_? Gee, thanks for that."

Faith shrugged. "I meant it in a good way."

The other woman sat down on the end of the bed, cell phone in hand, jeans on, shirt half buttoned; one boot was on, the other still lay on the floor. Apparently not quite ready to make with the dramatic exit yet. Nevertheless, Faith was cautious as she approached the bed again.

Willow gazed up at her. "Look, I get the Xander thing …"

"I've never said one word about —"

"Yeah, but, I know he's got issues to work through, some _less_ understandable than others, so, yeah, I get it." The forced not-quite-smile was painful to see, but Faith kept her own mouth shut for fear of making that particular situation worse. "And I sorta get the Kennedy thing …"

"You mean, _Sure, let's be buddies, but I still kinda think you're a backstabbing cunt_?"

Willow winced. "Not how I would put it, but, yeah, I can see where you're comin' from with that … possibly. But, the Buffy thing? Not so much."

With a heavy breath, Faith sat down beside her. "You didn't see the way she was lookin' at me when she was carving that turkey on Thursday."

"No, but I'm pretty sure in the two seconds I was looking away, it wasn't a 'deliberate re-enactment'. She said you should come here with me, didn't she?"

"Uh, way to go with the Alzheimer's. I'd already offered."

"Yeah, but she didn't know that. She could just as easily have told Vi and Rona to rope someone else in for the backup I needed."

Faith hesitated. "Okay, I'm just throwin' this out there, so don't go all 'Willow Has Left the Building' on me, but you don't think it's possible she's just hoping you'll get sick of me?"

Willow raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, must be one of those self-fulfilling prophecies she's been boning up on."

"Now you're just _tryin'_ to make me sound crazy." Faith nudged her. "Plus, you just said 'boning'."

"Hey, I'm not the one makin' you sound crazy here. And, yeah, I retract the use of the word 'boning', but only 'cause you're tryin' to be cute now so I'll forget about the ranting and the putting on of clothes."

"So, you still stormin' out?" Faith motioned to the boot on the floor, while Willow fidgeted with the cell phone in her hand.

"It wasn't 'storming'. It was gonna be a quiet, dignified exit with just a pinch of visible irritation. Besides, I wasn't kiddin' about the coffee in here, it does kinda suck." She looked at Faith, eyes slanted with an all-too familiar weariness. "Are you gonna spend the next hour obsessing over the Great Buffy Conspiracy?"

But, before Faith could say anything, the display on Willow's freshly switched-on phone lit up and she looked at it, smiling a little.

"And, hey, speaking of – your nemesis left a message."

"So, what's she saying?"

"She needs to know what time we're gettin' back … so she can _come pick us up from the airport_. Wow, that's some nefarious plan right there. Man, I sure hope we can outwit her this time …"

And when Faith coaxed Willow back into bed with an apology and promises to lay off the paranoid ranting and to go fetch some decent coffee in an hour, she thought again about those statues, about how Willow _made_ that happen. And, as she maneuvered herself back between the other woman's thighs, she told her how amazing it was, bringing things to life to save the day. Willow might not dig the full-on Goddess treatment, but at the end of the day she was still Willow Rosenberg and sometimes that meant _noticing_ how smart and special and super-wicked-awesome she was.

Sometimes Faith liked to imagine nerdy-high-school-fuzzy-sweater Willow doing her in the library behind the stacks, squeezing her fingers inside Faith's pants and trying not to look guilty about the homework lying neglected in her backpack. Or going down on her while Faith leaned back against the circulation desk, then standing up and brushing the dirt from her knees before getting back to cracking barriers and looking up secret plans and shooting superior little glances Faith's way. Or nailing her on top of the table on a full moon, sneakers squeaking noisily against the floor while the book cage rattled angrily behind them. That it was Willow in that crappy motel room helping her jolt her shoulder back into place before she let Faith ride her like a pony.

Wondered if Xander would forgive his best bud anytime soon for cutting off his balls, for not getting turfed out the door half-undressed with some two-bit send-off, the only part of that night she'd apologize for if it wasn't too late by now. And sometimes she imagined Willow with her hands around her throat, squeezing tight until the bruises wouldn't even matter; or pressing a knife against her skin, just below her jaw, then making her hurt till the screaming came to a whimpering stop. Almost told her about that last thing one time, but then Willow said something sweet to her and Faith didn't feel like telling her anymore. Told her about the stacks instead and let her fuck her against the bedroom wall beside the bookshelves.

Faith crawled back up the bed, used her fingers to wipe away the damp around her mouth.

"Back in high school," she said. "You ever think about me? For real, I mean. Not the retcon."

Willow looked up at her from where she'd wriggled into the crook of her arm. "I've mentioned the whole 'clueless' thing, haven't I?"

"Yeah, but, I mean, fuck, even Cordelia took a good long look or three. 'Course, that was more evaluate-the-ensemble than get-in-my-pants, but still …"

"Honestly? Still a big nope. Clueless plus the not-liking meant definitely no thoughts. Although, I suppose if you ask me again in a few weeks, maybe my memory'll have me swooning over your badass teenage self." Willow frowned. "Plus, of course, there's the whole monks-changing-things to take into consideration …"

"Kinda just lookin' for a yes or no here. So, monk-magic aside, you ever think about other girls _like_ me?"

"I didn't know any other girls like you."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, pretty sure I'd remember." But there was a tiny glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes now. Faith sat up a little, cast around for a different subject.

"Oz."

Willow's expression switched from uncertain to all-out surprise. "Oz? What about him?"

"Why'd you like him?"

Willow smiled. "'Cause he was cute and smart and sweet and so cool. He was in a band and he wore nail polish and he'd color his hair, but, even from the back, I always knew it was him. He was just … Oz."

"He was your first, right?"

"He was pretty much my first everything when it came to the dating thing. I wasn't exactly a guy-magnet. Or anything-magnet … 'cause, again with the clueless."

"Did you love him?"

"Yeah, I did."

"So, why'd you switch teams?"

"Um … I guess it's sorta like if you eat a breakfast cereal 'cause it's the only one you know about – I mean, it's nice and all – but then, one day, you have a different one, and you like that cereal a whole lot better and it's got all the stuff you didn't even realize was missing in the old one, and so the old one doesn't really do anything for you anymore? And you think maybe if you'd tried the different one earlier you woulda known —"

"Okay, think I get it. You're more of a Froot Loops kinda girl than … what's a cereal looks like dicks?"

"That's horrible," Willow sniggered, batting her lightly on the arm. "Why are you so interested in this stuff anyway?"

Faith studied her. She wasn't exactly sure herself, but she was also aware that amidst all the careful attempts to pick her brain, Willow had never asked her about her 'first time' or anything much at all about those pieces of her past.

She settled on something predictable, relatively safe:

"Voyeuristic streak."

Willow paused, squinted a little. "Like that girl in that bar a couple of weeks ago?"

Faith chuckled. "Man, coulda sworn you'd go for the whole workin'-her-way-through-whatever-kinda-degree-it-w as."

"Civil engineering and … I thought about it. For about a second."

"Yeah?" Faith grinned. "What stopped you? Coulda been fun. Chick was pretty hot."

"Maybe. I mean, hotness, sure … but, still gettin' used to the you-and-me-not-quite-dating thingy. And I … I didn't really want to, anyway. I mean, we were having a nice time, the two of us … I thought … and sometimes I just like the hangin' out stuff too." Her mouth drooped at the corners, the ghost of nerdy, pre-magnetic Willow creeping in. "Do you think I'm boring?"

"What? No. Christ, no. Guess I just figure this is your big chance. You hooked up with the chick who won't say no, remember? Anything you want, yours to use and abuse …"

Willow's expression took a more extreme turn for the anxious. "I wouldn't 'abuse' —"

"Hey, figure of speech, that's all." But, Faith held back an explicit apology. She shouldn't have to say sorry for Willow's mistakes. Had enough of her own to make up for. She glanced at the clock on the night table. "So, by my calculation, we've got about twenty minutes before I have to play gofer … you gonna fuck me or what?"

Willow giggled. "You're really gonna have to work on the whole 'subtly-leading-up-to' thing."

"I cut to the chase, you get more action. I'm thoughtful like that."

"You mean like at Halloween?"

"Huh? What about Halloween?"

"Your 'trick' and your 'treat' were pretty much the same thing."

"Yeah, see? Efficient."

"So, what kinda action we talking about?"

Moments later, Faith watched Willow rifle through her holdall then take out the _thing_ that, just a month ago, she'd tried to explain by _um_-ing and _ah_-ing and _I just thought_-ing herself into a deep sweat, until, finally, Faith had interrupted and told her, nice as can be, that, yeah, she got it, and it was all good and, no, it wasn't stupid, and it was gonna be great, and yay for discreet online shipping, and for the love of Christ could they just get _on_ with it already? Girl worked it like a fucking pro too. But, then Faith hadn't expected anything less, because Willow rarely did anything she couldn't do better than anyone else.

Sometimes she pictured her in college, researching up a storm when Tara came along. Not just the whole new kind of fucking and the optional extras, but the other stuff too. Mostly the other stuff. Thought about her sitting alone in her dorm room while Buffy was off doing her Initiative thing, trying to figure out what was happening to her and why it was happening, maybe a little bit worried and sick and scared. Told Willow she was lucky to have a nice girl like Tara back then, and reminded herself it was evil bitches like her who made it hard.

Willow didn't know she was punishing her when Faith asked for it harder. Not every time, but, now and then, she'd find herself counting off violations and transgressions in her head until she was sore. Thought about the person she'd hurt the most, and made Willow fuck her till she could almost feel herself bleed.

* * *

_Through a fog of smoke and alcohol, Faith watched across the table as the perky blonde leaned close to talk, long shiny hair sliding across her shoulders, tits pushed up against Willow's arm, practically had her tongue in her fucking ear. Felt herself slide into some fractured space between weirded out and strangely aroused. But there was another moment too, a brief thought so monumentally fucked-up, it almost jackknifed her out of the stupor she was in. Faith stood up a little straighter and lifted another Sazerac from the table._

_Willow looked at her. "Hey, d'you mind if we go up to — are you okay?"_

_"Right as rain," she said with a broad smile. "You guys go ahead. I'll watch the valuables."_

_Before they left the table, the girl threw back another shot, leaving a pale pink stain on the small glass. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head and Willow grinned, tongue between her teeth, cute as fuck the pair of them. The girl took hold of Willow's hand and they headed for the dancefloor, just as one of the bartenders appeared with a tray and dropped another six shots on the table, smiling as Faith tucked a few extra notes into his breast pocket. When she looked back round again, Will and the girl were making out against the side of the stairway, which … okay. Faith took another drink and carried on watching, lips parted and a tightness in her throat along with a mouth still felt far too fucking dry. Saw Willow's fingers slide through long, golden hair while she pressed the Chosen One up against the handrail …_

_From out of nowhere, some douchey fratboy lurched against her, mysteriously managed to attach his hand to her boob while he took his time straightening himself up. She closed her eyes for a second then opened them again, saw the two of them back on the dancefloor._

_"Hey, I'd say I'm sorry, but —"_

_Faith curled her fingers around his wrist and twisted, just enough to hear something crack, barely paying attention as he howled and staggered off somewhere to cry about it. The roaming bartender gave her a quick glance from the next table, then shrugged and carried on his merry way. But then, that was what decent tips were for. And that's what douchey fratboys got for interrupting her fucking view._

_Later, after they dropped the girl home near the Seventh Ward, Willow sat slumped in the back seat of the cab, head resting on Faith's shoulder._

_Faith stretched her other arm a little. "Hey, d'you make out with that chick tonight?"_

_Willow laughed, thick and slightly slurred. "No. Jeez, how much did you have to drink?"_

_"Apparently more than I thought." _

_The other woman rolled her eyes, while Faith chuckled and stretched again, loosening a knot in her free shoulder. She opened the window beside her a crack, figured some cool night air might help sober her up before they got back to the hotel._

_"What made you think I was makin' out with her?"_

_Faith looked down, saw Willow's eyelids start to slide shut just before the cab turned the corner. "Just thought I saw something I didn't, that's all."_

* * *

The girl at the coffee shop in the lobby took her order and Faith leaned against the counter to wait, idly gazing at a picture on the wall across the room, a blurry yellow field of wheat in the sunshine.

Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her pocket. Most likely a message from Willow, a last minute request for a bear claw or bagel or something. Except it wasn't from Willow.

_Hope I didn't interrupt anything earlier. See you later. B._

That was it. No little smiley face. No obvious mockery. No way of telling if she was genuine or not. What did they call it? Plausible deniability.

Bitch.

Faith felt herself start to grin as she picked up her order and headed back up to the room.

_There's my girl._


	6. Six: She Smiled Sweetly

**SIX: SHE SMILED SWEETLY**

"Get me a beer?"

Buffy shifted her gaze from the TV screen to where Willow lay along the couch, a small pile of cushions propping her head up, feet resting on Faith's lap. Either Willow hadn't heard the request, or she was ignoring it. Her eyes didn't move from the TV.

Faith gave Willow's foot a light nudge. "Will? Beer? Please?"

"Huh?" Willow looked away from the screen.

"You wanna get me a beer?"

Willow looked blankly at the other Slayer.

"I think maybe my ankle got broke or something when I was out with the newbies."

"If it was broken, you wouldn't be able to walk."

"That's why I need you to get me a beer."

"You were walking earlier."

"Yeah, but I think that made it worse ..."

"_Sshh,_" Xander hissed. "I just missed what that guy said to that other guy." He leaned round the side of his chair and scowled at them.

Well, not really _his_ chair, but Faith didn't use it much lately. A seven hundred dollar black leather recliner that anyone was welcome to use, so long as it was vacated when Faith wanted it, which basically meant almost no one else used it. The new Slayers were too scared to in case they damaged it; Willow didn't like it that much ("Sorry, they were all out of the frilly, tasseled ones," Faith had sneered when she first got it, which had been before _WillowandFaith_, because she didn't say things like that anymore except in a 'cute' way, apparently); Giles had tried it out when he visited and probably had one in his Cleveland apartment by now; Dawn pretended she was too sophisticated to care one way or the other about it; and Buffy had next to no interest in it since, well, it was just a chair for God's sake.

Xander loved it ("It's great for those lower back muscles, and it's so soft and you can tilt it just about all the way back if you want ...") and Buffy _had_ wondered once or twice if part of his relative 'acceptance' of what had happened was to do with the fact that the chair had more or less been passed onto him now that Faith had switched her allegiance to the couch.

Maybe a small part.

Buffy was just glad it didn't vibrate.

Now they were whispering in not-quite-whispering voices:

"Why didn't you ask five minutes ago, you know, when I was _in_ the kitchen?"

"'Cause I didn't need one then."

Willow didn't say anything and, for a horrible moment, Buffy was afraid she was gonna go all Donna Reed on them and get up off the couch, walk through to the kitchen, and return with a beer in her hand. Then Willow grinned and said:

"Or _you_ can get _me_ a Coke while you're through there."

Faith looked at Willow for a long, long, second. Then, shaking her head, she laughed and lifted Willow's feet from off of her thighs.

"Anyone else want anything?"

When Faith left the room, Xander made a noise like a whip being cracked.

Buffy looked at Willow, who hadn't heard. Or pretended she hadn't.

* * *

Usually, by the time any new Slayers arrived, a couple had already left the house, either on their way to be posted elsewhere or returned to their own homes until they decided what they wanted to do.

On this occasion, it looked like Buffy was going to have to put the latest arrival in with a couple of other newbies.

Dawn said, "What about Faith's room?"

"What about it?"

Her sister gave her a curious look. "Well, she's hardly there anymore, and Willow won't mind if —"

"It's not a big deal, Dawn. It won't kill the new girl if three of them share a room for a week. She can share _my_ room, if it matters that much."

Dawn looked as if she was about to say something else, then shrugged instead. "I guess so."

Buffy fetched the cot from the basement herself.

* * *

Sometimes they would sit outside on the steps of the back porch in the evening after dinner. It was 'their' place now. Like the couch.

Buffy would see them from the kitchen window, the curl of bluish smoke from Faith's cigarette drifting into the night, while she sat still, almost statue-like, with Willow leaning just a little into her.

Sometimes, they didn't seem to talk much at all. Other times, it looked like they were deep in conversation, then Willow would giggle at something Faith said and Faith would laugh that husky, throaty laugh that, in her more uncharitable moments – usually when Faith had pissed her off – Buffy imagined she'd practiced for hours and days until she got it just right.

Then, when that time rolled around, Buffy would open the kitchen door and Faith and Willow would look up.

"You ready, Faith?"

And Faith would crush her cigarette out in the little stone ashtray that Willow had bought her and push herself up from the steps. They'd come into the kitchen and Faith would say, "Later, Will," and then, while she was out on patrol with the new Slayers, Buffy and Willow would sit at the breakfast bar and have coffee or tea.

On their nights off from patrol, Faith would sometimes join them.

Buffy didn't mind _too_ much.

* * *

Robin came to visit. It turned out no one had told him.

Buffy was a little surprised Giles hadn't mentioned something in that soft, subtle Giles-like way; or maybe he'd dropped hints that Robin just didn't pick up. Rona and Vi knew, but somehow they'd managed to keep their opinions or whatever to themselves; they were all about 'The Mission' these days, after all. Buffy herself hadn't said anything in her own correspondence because, well, what could she say without sounding bitchy? _P.S. Did you know that your ex-sort-of-girlfriend has moved onto my best friend?_ And Xander had never been that close to Robin anyway. Neither had Willow.

So 'no one' as far as Buffy was concerned, mostly meant not-Faith.

"But I thought you'd kept in touch. I mean, he says you send emails just about every other week and you've talked on the phone a couple of times." As they sat down, Buffy took a towel from the fresh pile at the end of the bench and patted it across her forehead.

Faith was nodding, a wide-eyed look of agreement on her face.

Buffy bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "So, how could you _not_ mention it?"

Faith shrugged as she looked out onto the floor of the gym, making some sort of finger-waving signal to the two new Slayers practicing defense tactics on a mat in the middle of the floor. Buffy didn't understand the gesture, but the two girls nodded and switched positions. Faith turned to Buffy.

"Maybe 'cause, well, he might look all _Cool Principal Dude_, but you know what guys are like when you drop 'em for a chick ..."

Buffy frowned. "Kinda wouldn't know, actually." Then she thought about Oz. She supposed she'd just assumed he would have turned all werewolfy regardless of whether Tara was a girl or not. "Did he ... freak?" she asked. Faith had told him last night, just after he arrived, when she'd taken him and his bags up to her room.

Because Faith was staying in Willow's room.

("You know, just while he's here," Willow had added, eyeing Buffy a little nervously, possibly trying to gauge what her reaction might be to any further developments along those lines. Buffy just nodded then changed the subject.)

"Nah, but he kinda got this look in his eyes, like, _Ooh, was it me?_" Faith shook her head, grinning. "Robin's not exactly the most secure guy in the world ..."

Buffy raised her eyebrows slightly, but said nothing.

"I mean, he's a great guy and all, but if I had to hear one more story about _My Mother the Slayer_ ..."

Buffy smiled, but she noticed Faith's own amused expression was just a little on the wry side now.

"'Least now I've just gotta deal with a chick who was in love with one."

"I don't think Willow was 'in love' with Kennedy ..."

Faith looked at Buffy, still amused, still a little wry. "I'm not talkin' about Kennedy, B."

Buffy frowned. "What does that mea—?"

The cellphone on the bench next to the other Slayer buzzed. Faith picked it up, looked at the screen, then stood up and made another finger-waving gesture to the newbies, bringing the session to a halt. "Sorry, B, gotta go – promised Will I'd help her move some pricey hi-tech shit in her office. See ya later."

Faith headed for the locker room, Buffy's eyes following as she went.

"Are you okay, Ms Summers?" said one of the newbies, flapping a sweat-damp tank-top against an equally sweat-damp rib cage. "You look kinda … weird."

"I'm fine." Buffy looked at the girl. "And I told you, you don't have to call me that."

"But, Faith said —"

"Faith's an idiot." Buffy paused, grimacing almost painfully as the girls glanced uneasily at one another. "Who, of course, you should pay attention to at all times. She was just joking about the name thingy."

"Oh." The newbie smiled, relieved. "Sometimes we can't tell when she's joking."

"No," Buffy murmured, glancing in the direction of the locker room once more. "Me neither."

* * *

Just before Christmas, Faith asked Buffy to come with her to get a present for Willow. Dawn came too.

("Um, you do realize Willow doesn't really _do_ Christmas?" Dawn checked.

"Yeah, but apparently the dates are close enough this year, so, Christmas it is.")

They spent six and a half hours in three different malls.

"You must have _some_ idea what she'd like," Buffy said. They put their trays on top of the table in the food court and sat down.

Faith shrugged. "She likes ... weird stuff, I guess."

Buffy and Dawn exchanged looks and refrained from making an obvious joke about Willow liking Faith.

It was almost closing-time when Faith stopped outside a store-front window and tapped the glass, pointing.

"That's the one."

Dawn nodded approvingly and Buffy looked and smiled and got one of those infrequent flashes where, just for an instant, she thought she understood why Willow was doing whatever she was doing with Faith. Faith had it wrapped in the store and gave it to Dawn to keep in her room.

The next day, Faith told Buffy she'd been 'reading up on some stuff' and it turned out the Jewish holiday was _eight _days.

"... and it said they give each other _gifts_, like, as in more than one? I mean, it took us long enough to get just that one thing."

"I don't think Willow expects you to give her eight presents."

Faith still looked worried. "You think so?"

On Christmas Day, Faith drank half a bottle of Jack Daniels and told a bewildered Willow she should make up her mind if she was Jewish or 'whatever the fuck the Wiccy thing' was.

Then she excused herself and went upstairs to her own room.

She didn't come down again until noon the next day.

* * *

Part of her had wanted to scream _Well, what did you expect? _ as she'd watched Willow mope around the house that morning, sad-eyed and quiet. Then Buffy remembered she'd not always made what most people would consider the 'best' choices herself in that area.

"I can kick her ass, if you want," she said, then worried that it hadn't sounded as funny out loud as it had in her head.

Faith was remorseful, according to Dawn, who 'accidentally overheard them' when she was straightening out the recently-vacated room next to Willow's; the one that had already been straightened out the week before. Faith was all with the 'sorry' and admitting what an asshole she was, then when Willow found out Faith had actually bothered to read a book about Judaism, well, the 'incident' was pretty much over.

"But, then Faith's all, like, _Uh, not the whole thing, just the part about the Christmas-type deal_." Dawn laughed. "I mean, how dumb is that? Like, she doesn't know when to shut up already."

"What happened then?" Buffy asked.

Dawn glanced away to the side, suddenly shy, trying not to smirk. "Well, then it got kind of quiet and then kind of ... noisy. So I left." She paused and looked at Buffy, a knowing little flicker in her eye. "Maybe it wasn't such a dumb thing to say," she said and raised a meaningful eyebrow.

Buffy was glad Dawn's inner-bitch had said it and not her own.

Yeah, Faith was so 'cute' sometimes.


	7. Seven: Yesterday's Papers

**AN: **Thanks for reading/reviewing/following/favoriting/PM'ing, so far. Apologies for the delay in posting this story/chapter; one 'minor' adjustment inevitably (for me) turned into a 'for the want of a nail' situation. A more regular posting schedule will resume for the remaining segments.

* * *

**SEVEN: YESTERDAY'S PAPERS**

Just after New Year, Xander and Dawn took the newbies away for a camping trip, leaving Kennedy, Willow, Faith and Buffy alone for the weekend.

"Jesus, B … you're supposed to be aiming for its mouth, not takin' its head off."

"Oops, I thought I could hit its eyes too."

"Isn't this a bit pointless?" said Kennedy. "This is, what, only the fourth time anyone's missed?"

"Maybe we should do it blindfolded," said Buffy.

"Yeah, 'cause that won't look really conspicuous," said Willow, then grinned spazzily.

Maybe at the thought of Faith wearing a blindfold, Kennedy mused. Who knew? After all, Willow had practically had an orgasm when Faith suggested the four of them spend Saturday afternoon at the miniature golf course, and there had to be _some_ kind of kink involved there, right? Because Faith plus mini-golf just Did Not Compute otherwise.

Still, despite the pointlessness, it wasn't the worst afternoon Kennedy had ever spent. Listening to Buffy and Faith bitch at each other over the merest … well, anything, was always kind of fun; and weird blindfolded mini-golf kinkiness aside, Willow and Faith were doing a pretty good impression of _Willow and Faith: Before the Boinking_, to the point where even the keenest observer might have been hard-pressed to study them with a pensive finger on the lips and a curious _hmm_. It was almost like old times … if Willow was still Kennedy's girlfriend and they'd ever played mini-golf.

Buffy hit the errant ball through the clown's mouth, then, stepping back to peer around the giant head, they all looked on as the ball reappeared, bounced off the border, and rolled up the slope to drop into the hole. Willow, having opted out of playing due to the 'unfair disadvantage' she was at when it came to unmagically hitting things with sticks at precise targets, marked the score card in her hand, then turned to Kennedy.

"You're up," she said brightly and gave Kennedy an encouraging little smile, not unlike the ones she used to give her not so long ago, when Kennedy had used that encouragement as inspiration for tearing limbs off demons and firing crossbow bolts into vampires' hearts.

While Kennedy set up her shot, Faith stood at one side of the fairway, while Willow and Buffy stood at the other and Buffy glowered at the score card. Then, just as Kennedy was about to hit the ball, Faith lifted her club and slung it across her shoulders, all _Giant_-like, and Willow looked up and saw her and got this dopey kind of look on her face that Kennedy had never ever seen before; and she watched, horrified, as her wayward putt caused the ball to trundle limply toward the clown's head and stop just short of its big, fat, stupid mouth.

Buffy's eyebrows ascended in surprise, Willow cringed in sympathy, and Faith shrugged as she lifted the club from her shoulders and said, "Too bad, guess that puts me on top."

And suddenly 'pointless' just didn't seem like a big enough word.

* * *

Until the moment she realized that Faith was sleeping with her ex-girlfriend, Kennedy had considered the other Slayer a friend. Sure, Faith wasn't exactly too forthcoming when it came to sharing confidences, and they'd never gotten around to braiding each another's hair or anything; but when she wasn't brooding darkly over some past crime or other, and outside of her occasional Nazi-like leadership style – best exemplified during the last days of Sunnydale, which Kennedy was mostly prepared to put down to the stress of having had the role of Dictator thrust upon her – Faith had been pretty easygoing and sometimes kind of funny and she'd been willing to listen to Kennedy when she wanted to talk about … whatever she wanted to talk about.

And when Faith said that she'd understand if Kennedy didn't feel like sparring with her anymore, Kennedy said no, sparring was cool and everything was cool and she didn't blame anyone and it didn't have to be such a big fucking deal. Which had actually taken quite a bit of fortitude on her part, since that particular conversation had taken place when she ran into Faith in the upstairs hallway one time while the older Slayer was making her way back to her own room at awkward o'clock in the morning with no shoes on, her jeans unbuttoned, and what looked suspiciously like a bra sticking out of her pocket.

Still, even though it really _wasn't_ anyone's fault, Kennedy couldn't help feeling that something vaguely-unethical-and-sort-of-Judas-like had occurred. So, while she was happy to maintain a cordial relationship with Faith via sparring and going on patrol and buying her horrible cigarettes and so on, Kennedy was now more inclined to consider the other Slayer a _sort-of_ friend who was about as trustworthy as a not very trustworthy snake. Which, she supposed, was better than nothing.

* * *

"What do you suppose they talk about?" Kennedy asked Buffy, propping her elbows on the kitchen counter beside the other Slayer.

"Who?" Buffy paused, hand resting on a raw chicken breast.

Kennedy stared for a couple of seconds, then raised her eyes again. "Will and Faith? I mean, I guess they must talk about stuff."

The two in question had been dispatched to the supermarket to pick up some extra groceries for dinner and, somehow, Kennedy was finding it hard to imagine them wandering the aisles, exchanging silent, smoldering glances over beets and Rice-A-Roni.

Buffy looked thoughtful. "Well, whatever it is, I'm pretty sure they're the most one-sided conversations ever. Or maybe the second; Oz was hard to beat for the non-verbal. But, can you imagine? Willow'll be all like, _I was in a coma,_ and she'll describe every dream she had and, when she woke up, what the hospital room looked like and what flavor Jell-O they served, and Faith'll be like, _Yeah, cool, me too_, then she'll brood about it for three hours."

Kennedy grinned and Buffy grinned back and looked a bit guilty about it.

The older Slayer resumed the task of slicing and chopping things, then paused and pushed a small tray of washed carrots along the counter. "But, here, I can't help noticing the not-helping. Peel these and I'll continue to dispense knowledge and insight. That's assuming you want me to continue with the dispensing."

"Yeah, I guess so," Kennedy said oh-so casually with an even more careless shrug, but, really, she was dying to hear more. She picked up something sharp that looked like it might be a peeling implement of some sort and started to skin a carrot.

Then Buffy told her about Faith's little freak out on Christmas Day.

"It was pretty spaztacular," Buffy said. "I almost kicked her ass for it too. I mean, I told Willow I would, but I didn't mean it. Not really. Maybe."

"Why didn't you?" asked Kennedy.

Buffy raised her eyes for a brief moment in contemplation. "Well … don't get me wrong, there's a time I'd have gladly delivered a smackdown for the festive meltdown, maybe even for the whole Willow something-down, but, I guess my philosophy for now is, treat her like a normal human being and see how she responds. Otherwise known as the Grin-and-Bear-It approach."

Then Buffy put down the knife she was holding and burst into tears.

Kennedy froze. Okay, this was awkward. She and Buffy weren't really friends; even before the head-achingly boring speeches, they'd managed to get off on the wrong foot, mostly thanks to Kennedy trying to assert herself early by being as obnoxious as any terrified not-quite-Slayer-trying-not-to-be-terrified could be. Then she hadn't exactly improved matters by helping lead the charge that resulted in ejecting Buffy from her _own fucking home_. But, since they seemed to be in the middle of some kind of bonding activity, and pretty girls crying – or any girls crying, really – wasn't something she particularly liked to see, Kennedy put down the half-peeled carrot and carrot-peeling tool and said, "I think someone needs a hug?"

Buffy sniffed loudly and nodded and so Kennedy put her arms around her and patted her back a couple of times and, as it turned out, Buffy was kind of a girly crier, which meant there wasn't too much snot, and when the older Slayer stepped away again there was mostly just a wet face that was a bit pink too.

Kennedy handed her a napkin from the pile on the breakfast bar – because apparently when Buffy cooked a proper dinner, things like napkins were involved – and Buffy dabbed at her eyes and smiled quickly, then squinted at the recipe book that was opened on the counter. She looked at Kennedy again, still a bit sniffly, but the tears were gone now.

"Sorry, I shouldn't be unloading on you. I mean, it's nice you and Willow are all with the friendly still, but it can't have been that easy for you."

"I didn't really have much choice. I think some psychotic dyke invented the friends-with-your-exes thing back when gay bars were in caves and 'butch' meant you had a bigger club than anyone else. Lesbians have been doomed to repeat the pattern ever since."

"Okay, that sounds less nice."

"Plus, I'm away a lot, so that probably helps." Kennedy gave the other Slayer a concerned smile. "Are you okay?"

Buffy nodded. "Thanks. Maybe if I _had_ kicked her ass, I wouldn't have all this pent-up crying stuff … pent up."

"I know the feeling," said Kennedy and Buffy smiled, a little remorsefully maybe, perhaps recalling that Kennedy had talked about punching Faith months ago. The younger Slayer gestured to the tray of carrots. "Anyway … am I doing this the right way?"

With a grin, Buffy picked up one of the vegetables from the 'freshly-peeled' pile. "This one looks like Mr Pointy now."

"Okay, _way_ too much information."

"Mr Pointy was a stake."

"Oh. Sorry." Kennedy continued peeling.

"So," said Buffy after a moment, "speaking of being away and other non-stake related activities, how was your Christmas? Spain, right? I heard you sent Andrew back to Cleveland with the newbies and stuck around for a few days."

"It was pretty nice. They don't really do the present-thing until … probably about another week from now, I think. But, Christmas Eve was … interesting. Lots of shellfish and cheap Cava." At Buffy's curious glance, Kennedy shrugged. "I was slumming it."

This time Buffy lifted an eyebrow. "Alone?"

Kennedy paused. "I'd probably have to kill you if I told you."

Faith and Willow returned from the supermarket then. Faith started unpacking one of the grocery bags and slid two cans along the counter toward Buffy.

"Faith, I asked for _fresh_ peaches."

"Fresh off the shelf, B."

Buffy gave her one of _those_ looks and Faith shrugged.

"Fine. You don't want them, I'll take them back, hang around for a couple hours, catch that midnight train to Georgia, track down a farmer, pick you up some —"

"They were out of fresh peaches, Buffy," said Willow with a sigh.

Kennedy directed a surreptitious smirk Buffy's way before turning to the other Slayer. "And any _normal_ person would have just told her that in the first place, Faith."

* * *

Now they were drinking Shirley Temples with lots of vodka and watching some crappy romantic comedy of the uptight-chick/freewheeling-annoying-dude variety.

Kennedy was curled up on an armchair, Buffy and Willow were on the couch, where Buffy was playing with Willow's hair, and Faith was on her recliner. The leads were currently deep in conversation about … his penis probably? A lot of these movies were really samey and it made it kind of hard for Kennedy to care for very long. Still, it was either this or watch Julia Roberts die of diabetes-related kidney failure for the umpteenth time, so, whatever.

"Are they gonna start screwing soon?" said Faith. "This is boring."

"They already did it," said Willow. "I mean, I think the point of the movie is they should have waited to do it later."

"Oh," said Buffy with a frown. "I thought the point was they should have done it sooner. What movie have I been watching?"

"You were looking for barrettes while they had the 'waiting' talk," said Willow.

"So, when did they screw?" asked Faith.

"You were on the back porch," said Kennedy.

"So, what you're sayin' is, this sucks even harder than I thought." Faith rose from the recliner and looked at Kennedy. "Wanna hit a couple cemeteries?"

"Sure, gimme a second." Kennedy finished her drink then went into the hallway to put on her jacket, listening as Faith checked whether Willow and Buffy wanted to come along too. Jacket on, Kennedy waited just outside the living room doorway.

"We're okay," said Willow. "You guys should just go ahead."

Faith's eyes narrowed as she looked at Buffy. "What the hell you doin' to her hair?"

Buffy squinted studiously at Willow's head. "It started off as a Dutch braid, but then it kinda veered toward Switzerland. Maybe a Belgian braid?"

"You don't like it?" asked Willow.

"Yeah, very nice, 'long as B remembers to put it back the way she found it. 'Cause, no offense, but that's not what I signed up for."

"I think there _might_ have been a compliment buried in there somewhere," said Buffy, then looked up at the other Slayer. "But, in the meantime, _signed up for_? Wow."

"I didn't mean it like that," Faith sighed.

"So, how _did_ you mean it?" Buffy turned to Willow. "Do you know what she meant?"

"Maybe … probably … I'm not sure."

Faith shrugged. "Okay, fine, it's the best fucking hair I've ever seen in my life. Wow, what a great job you're doing there, B. Carry on …"

Willow giggled and Faith grinned and Kennedy scowled. Like, since when was abusive sarcasm giggle-worthy?

* * *

"Kinda quiet," Faith said as she and Kennedy wandered through the second graveyard of the night.

Kennedy nodded. "You'd think with the camping trip, they'd be out in full-force."

Faith looked doubtful. "The vamps know about that?"

The younger Slayer shrugged. She was only making conversation; she hadn't really thought through the logic to that extent.

It did kind of suck though. So far, the only thing that had caught their attention was a 'demon' that turned out to be a raccoon running around on top of a tree stump with a discarded beer hat stuck on its head. After Kennedy took a couple of pictures with her phone, Faith had poked the hat off with a stick and the raccoon had run away.

The older Slayer twirled the stake in her hand. "So, what kept you away from the great outdoors this weekend?"

"What, eating lukewarm baked beans out of a can and sleeping on lumpy terrain with Dawn's feet in my face? No, thanks." Kennedy eyed the other Slayer. "Why didn't you go?"

"Guess this is kinda like a short vacation for those of us a little more tethered to the ranch than you are. You know, footloose and newbie-free?"

"When did your idea of 'footloose' become mini-golf?"

Faith grinned. "Still pissed I beat you?"

"Yeah, I'll be crying over that one for weeks." Although Kennedy was pretty certain if it hadn't been for the stupid clown mouth incident, she could have won. "Anyway, it's not like you guys _never_ get away."

Faith glanced at her. "Work, mostly, but yeah, I guess so."

For the next couple of minutes, they continued along the path in silence.

"So, how come you never mentioned your gettin' down and dirty in Spain?" Faith asked, as they rounded the bend near the rear gate.

Kennedy frowned. "Did Buffy —"

"Heard her givin' you the third degree when I was out on the porch after dinner. Gotta watch for those open windows." Faith paused to light a cigarette, looking at her over the flame from her lighter. She snapped it shut with a loud _click_, took a long drag, then started to walk along the path again. "Few months ago you _woulda_ told me something like that."

"A few months ago I _was_ telling you things … about Willow and me. I mean, not the sex, but other stuff."

The other Slayer raised an eyebrow. "What, you think I was takin' notes?"

"No, but it's not exactly the kinda thing to make me feel much like sharing anymore."

"Right. So, the whole 'treachery' vibe I've been pickin' up, it's 'cause you told me stuff?" Faith looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. "Never asked you to tell me."

Kennedy stopped walking, the laugh she choked out ringing harsh and not a little bitter. "God, that's so _typical_ of you. _I don't care and I don't even have to care and if someone gets hurt, well they already knew I didn't care, so you can't blame me_. It's beyond pathetic. In fact, you know what? You're like that thing we saw earlier tonight. At first, it looks all cool and intimidating and dangerous, but the closer you get, turns out it's just a stupid raccoon, running around like an idiot and freaking out on holidays – and, yeah, I heard about that."

Faith looked genuinely startled … maybe even hurt? But, Kennedy held in the urge to take it back, despite the fact she'd just remembered the other Slayer had used a stick to dislodge the hat because it wasn't outside the realms of possibility that the raccoon might be rabid. Even so, Kennedy was determined to stand her ground; besides, there were probably worse ways to meet her end than being fatally clobbered in a graveyard by someone who'd survived being stabbed to death by Buffy Summers.

Faith was watching her, the momentary flash of possible injury already gone. "Been waitin' long to get all that off your chest? I mean, a 'stupid raccoon'? Gee, that was mean …"

"Fuck you," Kennedy sighed, flopping onto a bench at the side of the path.

Tossing her cigarette into a nearby storm drain, the other Slayer sat down beside her. "I've done a lot of shitty things I'm not proud of. Believe it or not, boinking your ex isn't one of them."

Kennedy looked at her. She was beginning to suspect Faith really _was_ that oblivious. Like Anya, but without the thousand years to hone it into something quirky.

"But, yeah, I don't think Christmas and I get along too well. Three in the joint, one in a coma. One before that was pretty good, but, this time around, man, the way Dawn was lookin' at me … Christ, I don't know what the fuck happened."

Once again, Kennedy said nothing. She'd already narrowly escaped death once that night; no way was she about to go all Psych 101 on Faith's potential multitude of _how-to-handle-fairly-ordinary-but-stressful-situat ions-like-a-regular-person_ issues.

Except something suddenly occurred to her.

"You called me," she said.

"Huh?"

"On Christmas Day. I had a missed call. I mean, it was two in the morning the next day where I was … but, I didn't call you back."

"Right, yeah." Faith shrugged, a little too nonchalantly, even for her. "Nothing important. Seasons greetings, I guess."

Six o'clock, post-meltdown Mountain Time.

Trying to handle fairly ordinary, but stressful, situations like a regular person.

Kennedy exhaled a long breath. "If you _really_ want to know, there was no 'down and dirty'," she told her. "Just … down. And not the good kind. There was a local girl, but she was practically passed out drunk and, well, there're rules about that kinda thing, so I dropped her off at her place and spent Christmas alone."

"Well, fuck her," Faith said with a shrug. "Or not, I guess." She eyed Kennedy, almost a little sheepishly, perhaps. "So, we pals?"

Kennedy paused. "Will you let me braid your hair?"

With a grin, Faith rose from the bench. "I'll think about it. Until then, how's about we stop by the store, pick up some ice-cream? Think B's still kinda pissed about the fresh peaches deficit."

Half an hour later, as they left the store and headed back to the car, Kennedy directed a sidelong glance at the other Slayer. Willow's favorite flavor and she hadn't even had to ask.

And weird mini-golf and crappy rom-coms and blink-and-you'll-miss-it semi-sort-of-compliments.

It wasn't ideal. Not by a long shot if Kennedy had had her way. But, then Willow could probably do worse than an untrustworthy snake.


	8. Eight: Saint of Me

**EIGHT: SAINT OF ME**

Faith had spent most of the day sitting outside, not talking to anyone and turning down an afternoon at the ice-rink where, normally, once she'd had enough fun trying to distract Buffy and make her fall over, she'd go to the arcade on the second floor with Xander and some of the newbies and they'd shoot monsters or streetfight each other into oblivion; and later, when they got home, there'd be beer and pizza and bad TV and stupid jokes and (mostly) good-natured Buffy-baiting.

Buffy sometimes called Faith's 'quiet' days 'the calm before the storm', but, painful reflection and gloomy remorse aside, sometimes Willow didn't mind those days so much. They didn't necessarily mean trouble was a-brewin'. Sometimes they just meant Faith shifting over on the back porch steps so they could not-talk together; lying on top of Willow's bed and watching an old movie on the spare TV without making ironic, smart-assed comments about it; then, later, that thing that was too quiet, too gentle, to be 'fucking' or 'screwing' or – God forbid – 'boinking'.

And sometimes those days meant Faith disappearing from the house for a few hours while Buffy made an effort to say something supportive ("It's good she's got someplace to do the brooding thing, instead of just going mental again."); and Xander made a point of not saying anything at all; and the newbies mostly just shrugged it off, because disappearing to strange places at night was 'cool' and 'mysterious' – and it also meant they didn't have to _see_ her being all quiet and morose, which was 'scary' and 'depressing'.

With a quick glance at the pick-up parked at the end of the row beside a brown-with-dirt Oldsmobile, Willow pulled her car into the small lot at the side of the pale red brick building, got out, and entered the bar.

* * *

Apart from the occasional clueless talk among the regulars about fewer 'strange encounters' and disappearances after closing time, the barroom continued to serve as a refuge where, once or twice a week, she could Clark Kent her way through the remaining hours of whatever kind of day drove her there. Far as the locals were aware, she was just 'Faith' or 'sweetheart' or, in the case of yet another randomly batshit 'observation' the week before from Ancient Old Dude: "See? They named a whole town after ya," and pointed behind the bar to a postcard of the San Miguel Chapel in Santa Fe. She'd just laughed, didn't have the heart to tell him how thick the irony was.

Besides, while Buffy had long-since figured, through process of reasonable assumption, that the place Faith liked to go sometimes at night was a bar, she didn't know _which_ bar, and there was still some small degree of entertainment to be had listening to her interrogate Willow about it.

("You know where it is?"

"Uh-huh."

"You've been there?"

"Yep."

"More than once?"

"Um, a few times, sure."

"Is it really gross and skanky?"

"Buffy …")

Tonight, the barroom was busy, noisy too with chatter and with the background twang of some kind of country music coming from the jukebox in the corner, but she sat by herself and, since they knew the signs of a _crappy_ day by now, her 'alone time' had gone largely undisturbed. Ancient Old Dude had simply flashed a gummy smile at her when he'd come in a half-hour ago, forgoing the usual nutty banter; and even the Kings of the prehistoric pool table, a pair of slack-jawed Cletus-and-Jethro types, had swapped their usual hopeless attempts at 'flirting' for a couple of gap‑toothed grins in her direction before they went back to tearing up the crimson baize.

The owner set another Evan Williams down on the table in front of her; not usually her salve of choice, but the locals dug it and when in Rome … Plus, apparently Giles used to keep a bottle behind the counter in the magic store and, for whatever reason, there was something almost kind of comforting about that.

From the corner of her eye, Faith saw the middle-aged guy with a Mexican first name and Irish surname who liked to talk the Red Sox with her tilt his head sideways in her direction and wave someone over from the other end of the L-shaped room. Seconds later, Willow slid onto the seat opposite and, less than a minute after that, an unsolicited beer appeared in front of her.

For a long moment, Faith didn't say anything, content simply to take in the other woman's presence, the mere _fact_ of her stirring something not unlike the feeling over Giles' not-so-secret stash. Finally, she ran her finger through a circular patch of bourbon residue on the table surface, then sat back in her chair.

"Thanks for the rescue. Figured you didn't need a call from the cops tellin' you about the dumbass wrapped around a telephone pole on the highway."

Willow smiled. "Yeah, mighta ruined my weekend and I was thinkin' we could do something nice tomorrow. Something outdoorsy, maybe."

"I'm sorry."

"I told you, it's okay to call …"

"No, I mean, it's getting better, but things just get a little fucked up in here sometimes." She gave her forehead a couple of taps. "A little too noisy."

Another smile. "It's okay. I get it."

The fuzzy feeling came to a grinding halt, empathy not quite doing it for her this time; instead, it felt like a big, shiny prize for Most Undeserving. Irritation rising, Faith watched Willow take a drink from her beer, most likely so's she wouldn't hurt the bartender's feelings, or the bottle's feelings, or _something's_ fucking feelings.

A grin started to curve Willow's mouth. "So, I'm your emergency contact, huh?"

"Don't get too excited. Just means you get to hear about the shitty stuff before anyone else does."

Which was a crappy thing to say. A tiny shrug lifted Willow's shoulders.

"Anya would have called it a gift with purchase. But, if you're gonna be an ass about it ..." She nudged her beer away and moved her chair back.

"No, don't leave. Please? I shouldn'ta said that." Looking down, Faith saw her arm stretched across the table, hand clutching the other woman's wrist. Thought about a time when she'd have gladly snapped the bones she could feel tense underneath her fingers, listened to them crack and fucking laughed about it. She let go, bringing her hand back to the half-empty glass in front of her.

"I was just gonna go to the bathroom," said Willow.

"Oh." Faith sat back again in her chair. "Sorry."

Willow gave her a quick smile – one of those _you're-having-a-bad-day-so-I'll-kind-of-let-the-fa ct-you're-being-an-asshole-slide-for-now_ expressions – then stood up and headed across the floor.

Over the next couple of minutes, Faith watched Cletus and Jethro – whatever the fuck their names were – finish their game, then move over to the dartboard, shaking her head when Jethro held out a set of three darts and raised an eyebrow.

"You sure you don't wanna give it a shot? Twenty bucks says you wipe the floor with anyone takes you on – we'll split it with ya."

"Leave her be," Ancient Old Dude snorted. "Got better things to do than line your fuckin' pockets."

"Sorry, boys." Faith smiled a little. "You heard the guy. Maybe next time."

With another couple of goofy grins, the pair started up their own game, just as Willow came out the bathroom.

"What's with the makeover?" Willow said, taking her seat again. "It's all sparkly and nice, with the flowers and the little soaps, and the fluffy towels, and the meadow-freshness … and have you seen those magazines on the counter?"

"Yeah, like anyone's gonna wanna read _Glamour_ on the can in this place. Last week, I went to pee, there's a sheep out back got its nose pressed against the window. Probably wonderin' when its date was comin' back out, some of the guys in here."

"That's horrible," Willow said, but she was smiling.

"I dunno what the deal is," Faith said with a shrug. "Reckon maybe it's the novelty. Don't think they get that many chicks show up. There's a few swing by on the weekend, but otherwise, I'm pretty much on my own far as injecting a little estrogen goes. Present company excepted."

"Well, it's nice they've made an effort, I suppose."

Faith nodded, downing the rest of her drink. "So, puttin' aside the temptation to hang out in the john for the rest of the night, what say we blow this joint while I'm still functional in a not-operating-a-moving-vehicle kinda way?"

Willow's forehead creased slightly, accompanied by a wry grin. "Straight to the point, huh?"

"Hey, no, perish the thought. I'm thinkin' we go home, score some candy from B's emergency stash, maybe eyeball one of those weepy movies you like, _then_ we can get all … functional."

Willow smiled. "I guess candy and a movie _would_ be nice."

"Lemme go settle up."

When they reached the counter, Faith started to take out her wallet, but the bartender waved it away.

"Again?" Faith frowned. "You gonna tell me who the hell this guy is?"

The bartender simply shrugged. "Wanna leave your keys?"

"You sure? We can come pick it up tomorrow …"

"Don't worry about it."

As she slid the pick-up keys over the counter, Red Sox Guy spoke to Willow:

"So, you're back in college now? How're your classes goin'?"

"Um … fine, thanks." She turned to Faith, a curious half-smile twisting her mouth.

Faith shrugged. "Just makin' conversation."

"Got yourself one of those smart girls to watch out for ya." Ancient Old Dude nudged Faith's arm with the back of his gnarly hand.

"Looks like it." She stuck a twenty into the tip jar and they made their way toward the door.

"The thing with the keys?" Willow whispered. "Is that like last week, where it's just gonna turn up outside the house in the morning?"

"Guess so," Faith said, shrugging on her jacket as they left the bar.

"Boy, they really are makin' an effort …"

* * *

They watched the two women leave the barroom, then, once the doors swung shut behind them, the owner turned to the others.

"Turns out she's a 'slayer'," he said. "That's what they're called. Buddy of mine knows the old lady runs that _other_ kinda bar … you know the one … says there's a whole bunch of them. Our girl's the worst – meaner than a sack full of rattlesnakes."

"Yeah?" Raising an eyebrow, Cletus set his darts on top of the counter. "Gets a little mopey, sure, but I never seen her _mean_."

"My cousin almost got bit last week," Red Sox Guy told them. "Says she knocked seven shades of shit out the bloodsucker 'fore … you know … with the wood and all?"

"Cool," said Jethro, lifting his drink from the counter.

"Nice we got someone comes here, knows what the hell they're doin'," said Ancient Old Dude. "Keeps the bad stuff away." He turned to Cletus and Jethro. "And quit tryin' to make her join your fuckin' darts team."

"Just figured she'd be good at it," Jethro said with a shrug.

"So, you think the redhead … Willow … think she knows?" asked Cletus.

"Reckon she musta told her by now," said Red Sox Guy. "Been a few months."

"Nice girl," said the owner. "Just hope she took it okay. Some folks couldn't handle that kinda stuff."

The rest of them nodded in agreement.

Just after midnight Jethro slipped the pick-up keys into his pocket and he and Cletus headed for the door.

"Make sure you fill the tank this time," said Red Sox Guy. "Rest of us'll pick up the tab here."

The owner took some cash from the register and handed the notes to the younger bartender. "And get some new magazines for the washroom. They musta read those other ones by now."


	9. Nine: The Worst

**NINE: THE WORST**

Willow was in love with the guy at the store where she went to pick up new software and components and upgrades and accessories. And he obviously liked her too, because he gave her free toner cartridges for the printer in her office. He was young – mid-twenties – with sun-streaked blonde hair, soft blue eyes, a nice smile, and he was clean-shaven every time she saw him. He wore a light grey suit (although she'd never seen him with his jacket on), along with a white shirt and, usually, a blue or dark-grey tie. On the hottest days, he'd have his top button unfastened and his shirt sleeves rolled about halfway up his forearms. He had a tan, but not one of those plastic-looking ones. Just the kind some people got when they lived in a sunny climate. And he liked the Beatles, because he'd said so one time when they'd been playing on the radio that was turned on in the store.

All this was according to Faith.

"He's a real cutie, B. You'd like him ... except he's not a vamp."

Xander looked at Willow, who was sitting at the table in the library, fiddling with the plastic wrap on an installation CD. She opened the disc drawer and put the CD on the tray.

"So, has he asked you out yet?" Buffy asked Willow. Xander saw the two Slayers exchange amused grins.

"No," Willow murmured distractedly, now peering at the screen and clicking on the mouse. "Ours is a forbidden love."

Faith laughed, and Xander swallowed back a surge of ... _something_. Something to do with that easy confidence ... with the fact that, no, Faith had nothing to worry about.

Two days later, he stopped Buffy outside the window of the store while they were on their way back to the jeep after picking up some dry-cleaning, a new pair of oven mitts, and a fresh supply of bandages and antiseptic wipes from the pharmacy.

"That must be him, right?" he said, pointing through the glass.

Buffy looked. "I guess so."

"He looks nice. I mean, in a nice solid-looking-guy way."

Buffy nodded.

"I mean, you don't suppose she —"

Buffy laughed, shoving him gently on the arm. "I think _that_ ship sailed a long time ago."

"Well, hey, maybe he's got a sister!" He tried to keep his voice light, but he could hear the strain of forced cheer anyway.

"Xander," she sighed. "I think you just have to —" She paused, then sighed again, this time giving his arm a reassuring pat.

It was her way of agreeing with him. He knew it.

* * *

Of course, if they'd waited another couple of days, they could have visited the electronics center too and saved Willow and Faith a trip later in the week.

Xander and Buffy had been in the gym, going over an idea Xander had to create more floor room by adding some moveable side panels to the walls for quicker storage purposes, when one of the new Slayers – sent to fetch them by Dawn and Kennedy – told them that Faith had just 'gone, like, psycho'.

When they got to the house, Xander stood in the living room doorway, Buffy beside him, her mouth hanging open. Kennedy was standing just inside the room, arms folded, chewing her lip, and Dawn was half-sitting on the arm of the couch nearest the door, a concerned squint on her face. Three younger Slayers stood wide-eyed against the opposite wall, and Willow was yelling at Faith, who was standing near the middle of the floor, her face an expressionless blank, fists clenched tightly by her side.

Later that night, Kennedy told them that she, Willow, Faith and Dawn had been sitting round the table near the back of the living room. Kennedy had been telling them a story about her trip to Bucharest when a couple of new Slayers had started arguing about which show they wanted to watch. 'Just whiny kids' stuff' apparently. Faith, laughing, had yelled at them to 'pipe down' and told Kennedy to carry on with her story.

"Then, about a minute later, she had to tell them to keep the noise down again, but I guess they're just a little _too_ new to know when she's getting serious and they started up for the _third_ time. So Faith's getting more and more pissed off and then finally she gets up and goes over and puts her frickin' foot through the TV screen! And she says _Now you can't fuckin' argue about it_." Kennedy gave a startled laugh.

"Then Willow started yelling at her," Dawn said. "And, you know, that's when we sent one of the girls to get you guys."

Kennedy nodded. "I mean, for all we knew, they were gonna start knocking the crap out of each other." She gave a small shrug and bit her lip through a half-shocked, half-amused grin.

Xander felt a sudden tightness in his chest. "You don't think ... I mean, yeah, Willow was upset when we got to the house, but Faith wasn't _doing_ anything. She didn't do anything, did she?" He glanced between the two Slayers, recalling how Faith had just stood there, as if she were somewhere else almost, while Willow yelled at her, hands thrown in the air, her face a picture of outraged disbelief. Then, almost as if she'd just woken up, Faith blinked and looked at the used-to-be-TV and said, "Shit." Then she turned to Willow and shrugged. "Well, it got a lousy reception anyhow." That's when Buffy had started yelling at her too.

"Oh," said Kennedy. "No, I didn't mean — I didn't _really_ think ... I just meant we didn't know what the hell was going on."

Buffy looked at Xander. "Yeah, there's no way ... I mean, Faith would _never_ ... no." She shook her head.

"I — I shouldn't have said that," said Kennedy. She gave a small laugh. "I mean, come on, even if she did try anything, Willow would zap her into the middle of next week before she could even — you know, if Will was using that kind of magic on _people_ ..."

"Which she's not," said Buffy.

Kennedy nodded. "Though if Faith got ... like that, which she wouldn't, then Willow _could_ use it if she had to."

"But she wouldn't have to," Buffy added.

"'Cause Faith's just a loveable puppy now who doesn't do things like put her foot through TV screens when she gets pissed off," said Xander.

Buffy sighed. "No, because she _did_ put her foot through the TV, Xander – you know, a big, inanimate _object_."

"But you've seen how she gets when she's fighting sometimes …"

Buffy hesitated for a second. "Yeah, I know, but you're talking about vamps and demons. Look, I'm _not_ her biggest fan a lot of the time. You know that. And it was a dumb thing to do – _really, really_ dumb – and she knows it was, but ..."

He nodded slowly as she continued, barely listening. Once the yelling had stopped, Faith had apologized pretty much straight away. Apparently, she'd been getting a 'killer headache' from the newbies all day and the bickering had been the last straw. She'd apologized to the younger Slayers again, who were still looking a little uneasy about it all, then promised to buy a new TV. Then she picked up what was left of the old one and took it out to the trash. Willow said, "She couldn't have just unplugged the damn thing?" then she'd gone to her room.

Where Faith was too right now.

"And, hey, you know, we might get a better TV out of it," said Dawn, and Buffy and Kennedy exchanged guilty-looking smiles.

Xander couldn't understand why they thought it was funny.

* * *

"Goin' up to Cleveland tomorrow," said Faith a few days later. She took a drink of water then offered the bottle to him, but he shook his head. "Giles is plannin' some big-ass demon-den clearance." She grinned. "Y'know, everything must go?"

"You're going alone? I mean, just you?" Xander held the compound bow upright between his feet, holding onto the weapon by its upper limb. He studied it for a moment, turning his head to glance briefly at the sharp shadow it cast on the ground to his left, then rested it across his lap and picked up the screwdriver.

Faith nodded and a series of images flashed through his head:

_A barroom ... some faceless 'bad boy' or college freshman who'd think he'd won some kind of wet-dream lottery ... a motel room ... a confession when she got home (the result of some reliable rumor or tell-tale sign that couldn't be denied) ... an argument ... tears ... _

Or maybe it wouldn't even _be_ a stranger.

He adjusted the top weight-locking screw then, just in case, checked the other one. He glanced at her as he reached for a small can of lubricating wax. "So ... where you staying?"

The two of them were still pals, after all, weren't they? One of them moving to another state had probably helped.

She shrugged. "With Giles, I guess. Maybe Vi and Rona."

Xander nodded. "Lots to do in Cleveland … probably. You'll need someone to show you around."

Faith looked at him, a little curious this time, eyes narrowed, the beginnings of an uncertain smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Yeah, I get some time, maybe I'll check it out."

He lifted the weapon from his knees. "Here, it should be okay now. You might wanna test it first."

Faith took the bow from him and held it in front of her, aiming it toward some distant target, squinting through the sight window. Her fingers touched the bowstring and he wondered if she was going to dry-fire the weapon, maybe screwing up the mechanism in the process. He opened his mouth to warn her, but, before he could, she lowered the bow, holding it by her side.

"Cool. I'll do that. Thanks."

Xander gathered up his tools and put them back in the box, trying to ignore the conflicting hopes that were fighting it out in his head and making his eyeball ache.

* * *

He watched them that night. Sitting close together on the couch – more than close – the flickering blue-grey glow from the TV (which _was_ better than the last one, he had to admit) casting a pale, shadowy light across their features. Half-watching a bad movie and making jokes about the kinds of lame romance plots that, once upon a time, Willow used to think were okay on the nights when they'd had nothing better to do. Then a sudden movement and Willow squealed then snorted while she tried not to laugh, but then she laughed anyway and everyone told them to shut up. A moment later, Faith leaned closer and whispered something. Willow nodded and they stood up.

Before they left the room, Faith looked at him and he saw it: Dark amusement in her eyes, a faint, but unmistakable smirk on her face – mocking him, daring him to do something about it, to try and stop her. Then Willow turned to say something to her and the look was gone.

If it had ever really been there in the first place.

* * *

He heard her cell phone ring and glanced up at the clock above the kitchen doorway. Same time. Maybe a little later tonight, but the give-or-take-ten-minutes punctuality impressed him. Or just surprised him.

"I should get that," Willow said and left her spoon in the carton of ice-cream.

He saw her flip the phone open and hold it to her ear, then a wide smile made its way across her face. As she walked toward the back door, talking quietly, she glanced back at him then opened the door and took the phone outside.

He dipped his own spoon back into the carton.

Buffy came in then, back from patrol. "Ooh, what flavor?" She sat down where Willow had been sitting and picked up Willow's spoon.

* * *

The ice cream was almost gone. Buffy left to do an inventory of the weapons cabinet and Xander put the lid back onto the carton then walked across the floor to the freezer. He could hear Willow through the window that was open just a crack. Still talking, laughing quietly too in a cheerful-sniffly sort of way.

Wondered when she'd stopped needing him. Wondered if she ever really _had_ needed him.

Smarter than him. Always. Almost always.

Being her friend hadn't made her more popular.

He'd not been the one who'd introduced her to real monsters she could fight against.

He'd broken her heart before she even got to use it for real.

But, he'd been her hero. Until she didn't need his kind of hero any more. Not much anyway. It wasn't as if he could ask her to try to destroy herself and take the world with her every week.

So, how was he supposed to protect her from someone who could beat ten different kinds of snot out of him without even breaking a sweat? Who chewed people up and spat them out like gum once the flavor was gone. Who sometimes looked at Willow like she was a new toy and occasionally remembered to look afraid that her new toy would get taken away. Who could never let her down, because she didn't make big promises that she couldn't keep. Who, when they'd tried to draw her into a game of 'anywhere but here' on a slow Sunday had shrugged, confused, and said, "I guess don't wanna be anyplace else," and probably made Willow fall a little deeper right then. Who was trying so hard to do everything right without really trying much at all.

"Hey," she said. He felt a tug at the the hem of his shirt.

"Everything okay? Happy?"

She nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Good."

Taking the ice cream carton from his hand, she smiled. "Wanna go watch some brand spankin' new TV?"


	10. Ten: Citadel

**TEN: CITADEL**

He debated briefly whether to begin the tour with the weapons room or leave it until the end, but, he knew she'd been looking forward to it, and he didn't want to prolong the agony. When they entered the room, he watched, pleased, as she stared slack-jawed at the walls and tables laden with dozens of different kinds of melee and range weaponry.

"Figured it'd be cool, but … Jesus." Faith made her way around the room, studying each section in turn, stopping when she reached the already robust collection of knives and daggers they'd accumulated in just eight months. She glanced back at him, a questioning gleam in her eye.

"Go ahead," Giles said and watched her pick up one of the daggers, silver and black with a nine-inch blade, a curved cross-guard, and a wheel-shaped pommel.

"Looks kinda like a sword," she said, holding it flat in her palm, before gripping the hilt loosely and passing it to her other hand.

"A knightly dagger," he told her. "From the fifteenth century, I believe. Ironically, not much use against our dragon."

"Ironically?"

"You know, knights … dragons." He grinned and she smiled back, clearly indulging him.

"You're gonna be so stoked when we slay that thing."

Giles chuckled softly. "I hadn't thought of that, but, yes, I suppose it has a certain ring to it. Pity it's not an English dragon, I imagine 'stoked' wouldn't begin to describe it."

Faith looked at him for a second, then laughed. Not unkindly, but it was clear the source of her amusement this time was him rather than his admittedly feeble jokes.

She returned the dagger to its place in the display, scanned the walls again and selected a longsword from the late 14th century. Drawing it from the scabbard, she studied the blade, pressed her thumb against the point, then held the hilt in both hands, knuckles flexing around the lengthy grip. She swept the blade through the air a couple of times, then tested its thrust, the most important manoeuvre required for the last phase.

"Yeah, this one," she said. "I'm comin' back for this."

He smiled in approval and they left to continue the rest of the tour.

* * *

Back at the apartment, Faith excused herself to make a phone call.

"You're calling Buffy? Can you ask her to send me the reports on the two senior girls? I forgot to ask you before you came."

She paused on her way to the balcony, the corner of her mouth turning uneasily, uncharacteristically diffident. "Uh, I was just … I was gonna call Willow?"

"Oh, of course," Giles said, and smiled quickly. "Tell her I said hello."

For the next twenty minutes or so, he busied himself in his bedroom checking weapons, doing his level best not to overhear. But, the balcony doors were open and the size of the apartment, the paper-thin walls, and the flimsy doors didn't leave much room for true privacy. Nevertheless, he was able to block out most of what was being said, registering only bits and pieces of an enthusiastic recounting of the weapons room and a couple of responses to the other end of the conversation.

Just before ten-thirty, she rapped on the bedroom door. "You ready?"

He carried the weapons out of the room and placed them on the coffee table.

"Will says hi." She hefted a mace over her shoulder and picked up a couple of other weapons, tucking them under her arm. "Says she'll let B know about the reports when she gets back from patrol."

"Good. Thank you." Briefly, he wondered if he should perhaps apologise for the misunderstanding earlier, but decided against it, picturing only further discomfort. In any regard, she'd most likely already put it down to his Britishness or his age or his former career as a librarian. Stereotypes all, but occasionally convenient. He gathered up the rest of the weaponry and nodded towards the door. "Shall we?"

"Guess we shall," she said with a grin.

He smiled back. Quite.

* * *

In the early hours of morning, after they completed the first phase of the operation to clear the city of the dragon and its eggs, they sat at the small dining table beside the kitchenette and ate leftover Chinese takeaway from boxes. The plates he'd set out sat unused on the breakfast bar.

"Xander's convinced you've got some kinda harem situation goin' on here."

Giles paused, felt the backs of his ears start to warm. "I wouldn't go _that_ far."

"Whoa, Rupert, feel free to spill."

"I'd rather not," he said, but grinned in such a way as to keep her entertained. By any reasonable account he wasn't short of female company, even if more permanent relationships eluded him. Still, this was the life he'd chosen for himself, unintentionally brief encounters with women who didn't ask too many questions, but who lost interest once they realised just how evasive he was capable of being. Perhaps one day he'd meet someone trustworthy enough to know, brave enough to stay. But, he suspected those days were long gone and it seemed churlish to complain.

He looked across the table and wondered if she expected him to inquire in turn about the 'situation' with Willow. But, he didn't think so. Even putting aside the earlier discomfiture, Faith's capacity for caginess was at least high enough to match his own. Except right now, under a studious dark gaze, he couldn't help feeling like an open book, a fairly easy-to-read one at that.

"Yeah, best not go there," she said, amused.

Giles chuckled and, for a second, remembered a girl with her face asking about stevedores.

"Do you like music?" he said suddenly, then frowned to himself. "It's such a ridiculous question, isn't it?"

Boxes cleared, he opened up a single malt he'd been saving and put on a copy of _Disraeli Gears_. They drank Scotch whisky and listened until patches of the dawn light began to bleed across the floor.

* * *

While he was inclined to agree with Mr Lydon and his former bandmates' opinion of the Hall of Fame as a 'piss stain', he was nevertheless happy to suggest a trip to the museum in the afternoon; Faith might like it, and it was one of those things he'd probably never get around to otherwise.

Faith studied the Fender, then shifted her attention to one of the pictures nearby, eyes narrowing in curiosity. He watched the change in her expression as it dawned on her why the guitar looked the way it did.

"Guy was a southpaw, huh?"

"Yes, he was," Giles confirmed, then added, "Paul McCartney is too."

She looked at him and smiled.

Encouraged, he rattled off the few other names he was able to remember on short notice, regardless of whether she might recognise them or not: "Albert King, Otis Rush, Dave Wakeling …" He imagined he'd lost her, but nevertheless, she nodded approvingly, suitably impressed, and they moved on to a different collection.

Standing in front of a velvet stage suit that had belonged to Keith Moon, a twinge of sadness hit him when he thought of his LPs lying at the bottom of the crater. For a strange, silly moment, he even found himself wondering how many of them might still be playable. In any regard, necessity meant he'd moved onto CDs now, just when everyone else was starting to listen to music you couldn't touch or smell or leave the odd cigarette stain on.

The grin she was wearing turned slightly mischievous. "Will says you were somethin' of a rock star yourself back in the day."

"I'm sure the dozen or so people who actually heard us thought so."

"Man, I bet the chicks were lined up. Dude, what _happened_?"

Giles frowned a little. "I became a Watcher and, thus, hideously unattractive apparently."

"No, I mean what happened with the guitar slinging? But, I guess question asked and answered." Another grin appeared, along with a slyly raised eyebrow. "'Sides, I always thought you were hot, even with the whole _stiff upper librarian_ goin' on."

He looked at her, an unexpected melancholy seizing him. Nostalgia for a high school library in a high school he'd despised; and regret that he hadn't noticed at the time how desperately she'd wanted both to be part of something and to stand out, to keep herself from disappearing under the shadow cast by the One Girl in All the World.

"Yes, I remember," he said and smiled.

She took a picture of Elvis Presley's Lincoln Continental with her phone and they left the museum.

* * *

Once again he heard only scraps of conversation when she called home that night, this time regarding their visit to the museum and, less innocuously, a somewhat endearing remark that, while fairly mild, nonetheless caused him to pause the inspection of the crossbow in his hands and smile a little at how odd it sounded.

"Will says hi," she told him as they prepared to leave. Picking up an axe, she ran her thumb along the flat of the blade and tilted her head to look at him, teeth sinking into her lower lip in barely concealed amusement. "And something about 'grown-up time' and an acoustic guitar?"

* * *

It was almost three o'clock by the time they got back to the apartment after ridding the city of the remaining dragon's eggs. Giles slid a shiny, silver copy of _Who's Next_ into the player and, jackets on, they pulled a couple of chairs out onto the balcony, the illuminated city shimmering before them, disguising the mundanity of a town he sometimes suspected was chiefly designed to do little more than merely function. When Faith lit up a cigarette, she caught him looking and flashed a devilish grin.

"You really are a dark horse," she said and held the open packet out.

As he drew on the flame from her lighter, he debated whether to tell her about his occasional Monday night escapes from Watcherdom, courtesy of a coffee bar near the Warehouse District. But, then, she'd be back in New Mexico by the weekend and it seemed unfair not to allow her the opportunity to flatter him into taking her along while swearing her to secrecy.

"You don't know the half of it," he said instead with a smile, and inhaled a lungful of tar and tobacco.

* * *

Along the lakeside, they stopped for a moment to watch a windsurfer teeter precariously on top of a sudden swell of water.

"So, he didn't know I was comin'?" she checked.

"No, by the time I got in touch with you, he was already in Montreal. He'll be sorry he missed you." Giles hesitated, sliding his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, shivering slightly against the chill coming in from the lake. "He still thinks the world of you."

Faith nodded slowly, bracing her own body against the cold by turning away from the water, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders hunched high. "Maybe I'll catch him next time," she said and sniffed, sweeping an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

Giles gave her a sincere smile. "Yes, he'd like that, I'm sure."

He knew Robin missed her sometimes, yet he'd been only partly surprised when his offer of a senior position in Cleveland had been accepted so readily. Less surprised still when Faith chose to stay with Buffy once again. Mortified when Robin came back from New Mexico after a brief visit and Giles realised the man hadn't had a clue about what had transpired once he was out of the immediate picture. At a local haunt that night, they'd played darts and drank pints of draught lager and managed to avoid any and all further discussion of the matter. For most of the evening at least, until the elephant in the room became too inebriated to remain silently conspicuous.

"Faith's always been a little … unpredictable," Giles had said as they stood at the end of the bar. Robin chuckled dryly as he drained his glass. "Yeah, can't say I predicted _that_." Giles nodded. "You and me both, mate," he said, mostly because he was a little drunk and it sounded like something he should say. In all honesty, he wasn't sure any one of them could truly surprise him anymore.

As they made their way back along the path, Faith turned to him, a couple of teeth catching the corner of her lip. "I shoulda told him sooner," she said dolefully. "Guess maybe I hoped you'd do the heavy lifting for me. Sorry about that."

Giles looked at her, ready to offer a consolatory smile.

To his horror, he started to giggle instead.

* * *

When she stepped out onto the balcony that night, he half-heard mention of the park and the lake, fragments of talk about a college basketball game on Saturday, an outline of that night's mission, then a long silence followed by a short, somewhat self-conscious laugh and something that included the words 'all weepy on me'.

When he exited the bedroom, Faith was standing by the dining table, fingers curled around the closed cell phone, lower lip turned out in contemplation.

"Everything okay?" Giles asked lightly. "Is Willow … is she all right?"

"Huh?" Faith looked at him, paused for a second, then nodded briskly. "Yeah. Everything's cool. She says hi."

He studied her as she set her phone down, then began selecting additional weapons for that night's excursion, lips now pressed together in a determined line, brow still narrowed in thought.

After a moment, she looked at him, once again incongruously reserved.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, then almost immediately shook her head. "No, wait, forget it. Never mind."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, just … yeah. It's cool." She gave him a quick smile, picked up a 150lb pistol crossbow and the longsword, then stood by the door as he collected his own weaponry.

"Shall we again?" she said as she held the door open.

Giles smiled. "Yes, I suppose we shall."

He watched her as they descended the stairs, assured and confident once more, the crisis put aside, for the time being at least.

Robin would be sorry he'd missed her, but he was beginning to suspect Willow might miss her more.

* * *

Just before midnight, they entered the lair and Faith slayed the dragon. Wounded and bloody and blackened by the ashes that coated the cavern's surfaces, she gripped the longsword with both hands, holding it close, and dived across the floor, sliding underneath the beast as it lurched forward on all fours, breathing fire and using its tail to sweep all comers aside. She plunged the sword into its heart, the resulting torrent turning her entire upper body crimson, then scrambled for safety as the monster's lifeless form crashed to the ground. Staggering to her feet, she wore a triumphant grin that was barely visible through all the freshly spilled blood; and when she pushed her hair back from her face, it made a squelching noise and Rona vomited.

"Here," he said, as they reached the entrance to the cavern. "I think you left yours back at the apartment. I thought you might want to … to send an update. Let them know everything's okay."

She looked at him for a second, then took the phone he held out. He watched her type something, then hit the 'send' button.

"Thanks." She wiped the bloodied keypad against a clean patch on her jeans, handed the phone back, and climbed into the van.

* * *

Traces of the night's activities washed away by a long shower, she emerged, yawning, from the bathroom, dressed in dark pyjama bottoms, a clean undershirt and a robe. Giles suspected the sense of propriety was Willow's doing, or perhaps even Buffy's. Either way, since he'd perhaps unfairly expected nightwear that barely deserved the description, it was a welcome sight. Sitting her down on the couch, he tended to a cut just beside her eye that refused to stay closed on its own. He cleaned the wound properly, applied a thin strip of adhesive dressing, then handed her a beer from the pack she'd presented him with on her arrival.

"The Welshman had left by this time," he said as he took the disc from its case and slotted it into the tray. "It's still very good." He studied the sleeve as the first track began, eyes travelling over the pink cartoon cloud rising from the subway entrance, and remembered that Oz had liked this album.

When he turned away from the stereo, the first thing he noticed was the full beer bottle on the coffee table; the second, that Faith had fallen asleep, her head resting on an overstuffed cushion, arms wrapped loosely around herself. He fetched a blanket from a cupboard in his room and turned the music off.

* * *

When he accompanied her to the airport at noon the next day, they stood beside the taxi at the drop-off point outside the terminal building.

"Have a safe journey home."

"Yeah and … thanks. Had a blast." She punched him lightly on the arm. "But, next time? We're gonna hit the town. I'm thinkin' we get loaded, maybe head down to the docks if you're feelin' adventurous …"

"Or perhaps a bite to eat and a few pints somewhere," he said, with a frown he made sure to look especially British.

Faith grinned, pulling her overnight bag from the back seat.

"Give my regards to everyone, won't you?"

"Sure thing."

Giles took a hand out of his coat pocket, ready to clap her on the shoulder or perhaps shake her own free hand; instead, he found himself drawing her into a hug that they managed to sustain long enough for him to speak to her in a low whisper:

"I'm very proud of you, Faith."

When he stepped back, she gazed up at him, nodding swiftly.

"I should go catch that flight," she said and hoisted the bag over her shoulder.

Giles watched her enter the terminal then got back into the taxi.

He'd wanted to tell her to be kind and patient and considerate. To tell the woman who'd just slain a dragon to not waste time being afraid. But, then he suspected he didn't have to tell her most of those things. It was the last one that might be the greatest challenge, but at least she wasn't afraid of Willow herself.

That night, he stood in front of the bookshelf beside the stereo and, from the end of the top row, pulled out an unopened copy of _La Bohème_. He peeled away the plastic wrap, put the disc into the player, then sat on his recliner and remembered.


	11. Eleven: Sway

**ELEVEN: SWAY**

Second weekend in February, they were at a hotel near the lakes. Monster hunting, apparently. Hadn't even left the fucking room yet. Willow was shit at cover stories.

Leaning over the side of the bed, Faith dug through her holdall, then turned back round again.

"Wasn't exactly sure if 'hanging out and screwing' qualifies …"

Willow looked at her, smile as big as, well, the box Faith slid onto her lap. "You didn't have to … but, yeah, of course, it totally qualifies."

Faith returned a smile of her own, relieved to be rid of the sick feeling in her stomach. That there was no overwhelming sense of _The Wrong Thing to Do_, the threat of which had kept her lurking outside the doorway of the store for at least fifteen minutes until Dawn told her to stop being a spaz:

"It doesn't have to 'mean' anything. It's just a nice thing to do. Plus, I'm pretty sure that girl behind the counter's about to call the cops …"

"I don't think so," Faith had said with a sneer, but she went inside anyway.

Like, who the fuck would hold up a candy store?

* * *

On a dare, one of the newbies drew a picture on Faith's locker with a black sharpie: a frowny face, with the words _I IZ GROUCHY YO! _scrawled underneath.

"Second I saw it, the waterworks started," said Faith as they walked through the gates into the cemetery. "Now _that_ was disappointing."

Willow grinned. "Buffy said she thought the girl was gonna wet herself, so, you know, coulda been worse."

"Man, I'm tellin' you, some of them … B tell you about those two Valentine's cards she got?"

"With the fangs drawn on?"

"Yeah. I mean, sure, it was pretty funny, but you know who's telling them all this shit, right? Fucking Andrew."

"You think so?"

"Well … probably. All that 'Dark Slayer' crap, that's definitely him, like I don't have enough of that shit to deal with … except I think in his version, I've got a smaller waist and bigger tits. Made himself scarce when I was in Cleveland, so I guess that's an upside."

Willow gave her a sympathetic smile. "If you like, I can talk to Giles. Or, you know, turn the little weasel into … well, an actual little weasel someone could accidentally stomp on."

"Offerin' to fight my battles for me? That's … kinda hot."

"Here to help."

"Thanks, but I'll deal. Tryin' to be philosophical about it. Figure as long as the little fuck's head's still attached to his shoulders, it means I've grown."

That raised another grin. "So, what happened to the newbie with the sharpie?" Willow asked, holding out the bag of chips in her hand.

The Slayer shook her head. "No, thanks. Uh … made her take it off with some cleaner from Xander's workshop, plus clearing away the equipment after training for a week. _That_ was for the caving in under _no_ pressure."

"Man, you're such a tyrant."

Faith chuckled. "Well, daring escapades aside, they know to keep it dialed down, sure, but it's not like some of them _never_ get mouthy or whatever. Just the other day, one of them's like, _Don't you ever read any proper books_?"

"What were you readin'?"

"One of Xander's 'graphic novels'. I was only lookin' 'cause he left it in the rec room. It was pretty fuckin' graphic too. Have to show it to you sometime." Faith raised an eyebrow and Willow smiled.

"You know, I kinda envy that a little," said Willow. "Not the comic porn, I mean. The mouthy-ness and the other stuff?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean, they're all really sweet, so it's not like they run screaming or anything … I guess I just thought the Slayer spell was gonna be the big thing that'd make the new ones all, 'Hey, she did this awesome thing for us! She can't be bad!', which, on the surface, sure, but there's always just this underlying … _thing_." Willow looked at her. "In other words, I think it kinda made it worse in a way."

Faith looked back at the woman who helped them with college applications and jacked up their laptops, gave them hugs and baked them cookies. "You mean, 'imagine what she could do if you _did_ piss her off'?"

"Yeah, that."

"Guess sometimes irony kinda sucks that way."

Willow shrugged. "I don't blame them – I can't even blame Andrew for it – but, yeah, kinda sucks."

They paused at a trash can so Willow could ditch the now-empty bag of chips, then continued along the path.

"Hey, did B tell you what she did with those cards?"

Willow shook her head.

"Stuck them on that notice board behind her desk, then called them all in for a 'meeting' on Monday. Didn't say a word about it, just stood in front of that board, talkin' about weapons or some shit, cool as fuck. Man, you shoulda seen their faces …"

"Aw, you're bein' all sweet about Buffy again. That's so cute …"

"No, I'm not. One cool thing, Willow, that's all."

"So, is there a lesson there I should be takin'?"

"Not particularly. Can't be wise and insightful _all_ the time. You want a lesson … I dunno … maybe 'fuck 'em'?"

Willow smiled. "I'll take that under consideration. Thanks."

They stopped outside the crypt.

"Okay," said Faith. "Reckon there's about a dozen of them in there. You take out six – no more – and I'll get the rest."

Willow nodded. "Stop at six. Got it."

Inside, Faith watched the other woman turn half the nest into dust in little more than the time it took for the door to swing shut behind them, almost as quick as it took Faith to get her stake out even. One vamp after another while they were running around like crazy, diving for cover, no less. Fingertips crackling with energy, black eyes gleaming, Willow turned to her, grinning wide, more or less evenly split between _Look what I did! _and _Look what I didn't do!_

No sweat, no fear. Just the aftermath to live with now.

Two days later, Faith gave one of the newbies ten dollars and told her to crank call the number she handed her.

The girl looked at the scrap of paper and blinked nervously. "But, isn't this —"

"Hey, ten bucks'll pay for your next few issues of _Teen Queen Scene_."

"Uh … that's not even a real thing."

"Whatever. Just do it or I'll … go all Dark Slayer on your ass."

Eyes wide, the girl bobbed her head up and down and left the locker room.

Later that afternoon, Faith was sitting on the back porch steps when the kitchen door opened and Willow came out.

"The refrigerator's still runnin'. You know, in case you were interested?"

Back still turned, the Slayer frowned. In retrospect, she should have probably waited a bit longer _and _made sure she'd get something more original for her ten bucks.

She looked over her shoulder, saw that 'box of candy' smile.

Then again, there was a reason it was a classic.

* * *

Buffy finally got around to asking Faith about 'that thing' she said 'in the gym that time'.

"About Willow … and me? 'Cause unless you know something I don't, I _really_ don't think …"

At first Faith pretended not to remember. Then, when she did 'remember', she told Buffy that, no, she didn't know anything, she was just shootin' her mouth off, didn't mean anything by it. Buffy seemed happy enough with the crappiest explanation for anything ever and that was that.

Of course, it was a lie … but not really, since it didn't seem to matter much anymore who or what anyone might have wanted back in the day. Sure, Faith's thoughts still drifted that way every so often, but that was then, this was now and, while the Chosen One might still have some hold on ... well, practically everyone within sucking-the-same-air distance, things had changed.

Because, by now, Willow … _belonged_ to Faith wasn't the right way to put it. Outside of really specific sexyfuntimes, that sounded kind of creepy and weird. Maybe it was more like a library book situation, except Faith wasn't ready to put Willow back anytime soon, overdue, stamped or otherwise.

From behind her computer, she looked across the office at Buffy, sitting behind her own desk, trying to balance an eraser on the sharp end of her pencil. They'd finished up that week's paperwork fifteen minutes ago, and were waiting for the newbies to clear out of the gym so they could do some sparring before dinner.

"What's another word for 'belongs'?" Faith asked.

The eraser tumbled onto the desk. "You mean like the verb? Like, when you own something?"

"Uh, yeah, but not really."

"Um, well, I guess you could say, like, something's in the right place, like this stapler belongs on my desk." Buffy raised her eyes in thought. "Or, you know, like when something just feels right …"

Faith frowned and sat up a little.

"Is that the one?" Buffy asked.

"Uh … sure. Whatever."

Buffy squinted at her. "Are you doing a crossword?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Somethin' like that. Thanks."

The other Slayer smiled a pleasant little _happy-to-help_ smile and went back to balancing her eraser.

* * *

Faith went to pick Willow up from college after a late night at the campus library. Willow was standing outside, drinking coffee, talking to one of those cute, preppy-looking chicks with a headband and a blazer and Bass Weejuns that matched her sweater.

Willow got in the car.

"Your friend need a ride?"

"No, I don't think so."

"D'you ask her?"

"I mean, she's got her own ride."

"Right." Faith glanced back at preppy-chick, then pulled away from the curb and they left the campus.

At three o'clock in the morning, Faith accidentally woke Willow up by turning on the lamp beside Willow's head and repeatedly prodding her on the arm, then holding her nose shut until she opened her eyes.

"Listen, I've been thinkin' …"

Willow snorted and rubbed at her eyes and yawned. "Huh?"

"That whole seein' other people thing …"

"What … uh … there's a 'seeing other people' thing?" Willow sat up a little and yawned again. "Well, sure, I guess we never really —"

"Yeah, I'm thinkin' I don't wanna do that."

"Uh … okay … were you doin' it before?"

"No, I'm just sayin'."

"So, you're sayin' you don't wanna do that thing that we haven't been doing anyway?"

"Well … yeah, I guess so."

"Okay. Let's keep not doing that then. I'm gonna go back to sleep now …"

* * *

"Most of them are kinda redundant, considering the texts we've already got in the library, but twenty bucks for the collection …"

Willow started to sift through the pile of books on her bed, stuff she'd picked up in a second-hand store in Albuquerque, stories about Gods and Goddesses from different places, lots of freaky rape and death shit, like Persephone and Hades, and Kali drinking blood from headless corpses on the battlefield.

"Wicked gross. Those are your buddies, right?" Faith was lying across the bed on her stomach, idly flipping through pictures of Cronus wrestling with Zeus then, a couple of pages along, eating his own offspring.

Willow shrugged. "Well, we don't hang out over mochas ..."

Faith looked at her, shook her head. "Jesus, Willow, that's fucked up." Laughing, she closed the book again and dropped it back onto the pile.

Willow started to clear the books onto the floor, pausing to peer at the cover of the last one, something about Greek myths with a picture of a guy looking into some water. "You know, some people claim it's the ultimate expression of narcissism – two women. Like, too much interest in yourself ... that way."

Faith snorted as she sat up. "What a crock. How about jerking off? That's gotta be more about digging yourself than makin' it with another chick, right?"

"Believe it or not, there's a similar theory along those lines too."

"Christ, can't fucking win then." Faith grinned, suddenly picturing a grim nod of agreement from the newbie with the Hillary Clinton boner who only listened to 'women-centered electro-punk'.

It was almost midnight when Willow drew the shade over the window and let Faith undress her, let her eyes, fingers and mouth map out all the differences between them. They weren't the same, not even close. Willow didn't need to use Faith's darkness as a cautionary tale, didn't look at her and simply see the road not taken, or a shadow of the things that she couldn't have.

She drew a soft breath through her teeth as Willow pushed her shirt up and her tongue traced a damp path along the scar on her gut. Remembered a time when she was nothing, when she'd had to force herself into another body before she could even pretend to be an actual person. Now Faith thought she might be something else again. Something more than just the _other_ and less than what she'd tried to be.

And, fuck, if she wasn't beginning to want things she thought she might have a chance of getting, even if she couldn't explain to herself what they were.

Maybe she wasn't there yet, and there was always a chance she might never make it, but more and more, Faith could feel herself becoming a real girl.

* * *

Hanging out in the dining room with Buffy and a pitcher of margaritas while Willow was visiting her folks over the weekend and Xander was running some 'Second-Tier DC Superheroes Night' for the newbies.

("How come Xander never visits his folks?"

"You haven't met them. No one should ever visit those people, trust me."

"Heard from your dad lately?"

"Nope. Probably somewhere in Europe banging another secretary. I don't care."

"Maybe he's been tryin' to get in tou—"

"I don't care.")

Faith considered the question. Not that carefully. "Truth."

Buffy looked disappointed. "I thought you'd pick dare."

"Not much I haven't done, B, so not much point."

"But, I was gonna make you wear a flower in your hair."

Faith swallowed her mouthful of tequila. "That's it? Seriously? I'd look hot with a flower in my hair."

"While you were training your girls on Monday. It was a really big one too."

Faith nodded approvingly. "Fair enough. Too bad I didn't pick 'dare' then. And I'm not gonna pick it now."

The pout came out. "You're no fun."

"Tell ya what, see how loaded we get and maybe I'll slip up and choose it later."

"I'm not gonna get loaded."

"Cool, more for me then." Faith glanced at Buffy's glass. Her third – almost gone – which meant there was a good chance she was already on her way to loaded whether she liked it or not.

Buffy leaned her elbow on the table, rested her chin in her hand. "Okay, tell me one thing you're too embarrassed to tell Willow."

"Sorry?"

"Truth. You know, Truth or Dare?"

Faith looked at the other Slayer.

_I almost threw up in the toilet the night before Valentine's Day._

_I don't like it when she isn't happy._

_Every now and then I have messed-up thoughts about a certain other … people._

_I worry sometimes I'm not smart enough for her._

_Out of everyone I know, I like her the best._

_When she's not around, I feel lonely._

Faith sat up, cleared her throat. "I jerked off when I talked to her on the phone last night."

Buffy's hand fell to the table with a thump. "God, Faith, I can't believe you just told me that!"

Faith couldn't believe it either. Fucking moron. She should have just picked 'dare'.

"Jeez, I wish I _was_ loaded …" Buffy looked at her, pissed off, curious, maybe not _un_sympathetic. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

Faith looked back and, all of a sudden, felt like crying. "I don't know."


	12. Twelve: Almost Hear You Sigh

**TWELVE:** **ALMOST HEAR YOU SIGH**

It had just kind of slipped out.

Because Faith hadn't meant to say it. Hadn't even been thinking about it.

But, when it happened, it just seemed like ... it was the right thing to say.

And then her mind got clear again and she froze. And Willow got this look on her face like _What the fuck?_ Or maybe something more like _Did I just hear right?_ Because, even if she _was_ kinda thrown by it, Willow would usually save the F-word for when she was _really_ pissed off or upset ... except for other certain times when she said it was okay to use it (and even then, she still didn't use it _that_ much).

But, even though it had happened during of one of those 'other certain times', the look Willow was giving her wasn't _that_ kind of an F-word look. So, no, it was probably – no, definitely – a _Did I just hear right?_ look.

Which maybe Faith couldn't really blame her for.

* * *

Before Faith, Willow had never kissed anyone who smoked. Okay, she'd only kissed four people before, but none of them had smoked. And whaddaya know, the icky warning that it was 'like kissing an ashtray' turned out to be just a catchy ploy to ... what? Stop people kissing people who smoked? Because the people who actually did the smoking didn't seem to care about this slur on their character, probably because they weren't the ones being threatened by warnings about bad kissing experiences that apparently resembled smooching a receptacle for cigarette butts. So they had nothing to worry about. Anyway, in Willow's personal experience, kissing someone who smoked was _not _like kissing an ashtray. Not that she'd ever kissed an ashtray before. But, she was pretty sure that if she did, it wouldn't be anything at all like kissing Faith because, hello, wow ...

"Motherfucker!" Faith crumpled up the empty pack and tossed it into the garbage bin beside the kitchen door.

Willow winced, while Buffy pretended to be shocked.

"Charming!" Buffy said.

Faith looked at them. "You'd think at least one of those fuckin' newbies would have one fuckin' pack stashed away someplace. You know, for sneaking a sly one behind the gym?"

"Nope, you're on your own, Faith," said Buffy.

Willow picked up her coffee and pushed the cookies a little closer to Buffy, who was so busy watching Faith spaz out over an empty cigarette pack, her hand kept missing the plate.

"Well, fuck them, 'cause —"

"Faith," Willow said. "Does every second word have to be ... that word?"

Buffy's hand had found a cookie, but it stopped halfway to her mouth.

"Don't start with the holier-than-thou shit, Willow, not now," Faith said, her voice low, with that kind of jokey-menacing thing going on that a person had to be kind of careful around. Then she smiled sweetly (and, again, you had to be careful) and, folding her arms, leaned back against the counter behind her. "Anyhow, never heard you complain about my 'fucks' before."

Buffy gave Willow a look that could have been either _Can you believe what a moronic, immature thing that was to say? _or else _I just can't imagine what you see in Faith because she's such an immature moron_.

It was a close call.

"Ooh, you're such a badass," Willow said.

"You're such a dyke," Faith said back.

Buffy was still holding onto the cookie, as if it was a miniature frisbee she was about to throw. "That's really nice, Faith," she said in a tone of voice that, for a second, made Willow think about the Buffybot. "I'm very impressed."

"Relax, B. I'm just kiddin'."

"Go to the store, Faith," sighed Buffy, who _still_ hadn't put the cookie in her mouth. "And pick up some milk while you're there."

"Sure, whatever." Faith stood up straight again and crossed the floor to the breakfast bar before stealing Buffy's cookie from right out of her hand and exiting the kitchen, laughing to herself.

When they heard the front door open then close again, Buffy looked at Willow.

"I know she doesn't really mean anything by it, but doesn't it, you know ..." She trailed off with a shrug.

"What, Faith with the 'hey-remember-I'm-a-bad-girl-really' routine? C'mon, Buff, you just said it yourself – she doesn't mean it when she gets like that. Except when she does mean it. But, you can usually tell the difference." Willow paused. "Most of the time." She looked down at her cup of coffee for a second, then looked up again with a wry smile. "I was gonna ask her to think about quitting, but maybe not such a good idea?"

"If you do, let me know so I can move to another state."

Willow shrugged. "Anyway, it's not like kissing an ashtray or anything."

Buffy looked at her for a moment, then nodded. A little sadly, Willow thought.

"I know," Buffy said, and picked up a fresh cookie.

* * *

"I'm worried about Buffy."

"Whoa, there's a shocker."

"I'm serious. I think maybe she's, you know, lonely or something."

"How the hell can she be lonely around here? Think I got more time to myself when I was in the pen. Not that I wanna go back or —"

"No, I mean lonely like boyfriend-lonely."

"Oh."

"Do you think maybe she's ... I don't know ... too choosy? I don't mean like she should just go out with any guy who happens to ask her, but —"

"When your last guy tries to rape you then ends up livin' in your basement, maybe it makes you kinda choosy."

"You know about what Spike did that time?"

"I heard."

"Did Xander tell you? Or Dawn? Huh? Faith? Did you hear what I —"

"Uh, I can't remember. Sometime last year. I mean, there's a house full of people sittin' around waiting for the big end-of-the-world apocalypse with nothin' better to do sometimes than tell stories, so, I heard some stuff."

"What kind of stuff? I mean, other than what Spike did?"

"I dunno ... Xander blowin' off his wedding ... Soldier Boy headin' for the jungle ... uh, something about a robot? Man, I'd 'a paid good money to see _that_."

"Spike had it built for ... you know."

"And again with the 'choosy'. I mean, Jesus ..."

"But we reprogrammed it and used it when Buffy died. Before we ... before I ... you know ... brought her back."

"Hey, you did what you thought you had to do at the time. It worked out okay in the end."

"Thanks. It's just, it was ... never mind, just ... thanks. So, d'you think we should be worried?"

"About what?"

"About Buffy?"

"Uh, let's see ... there's that guy at the bank she kinda likes. He's nice and all, I guess. But, I mean — and for all I know, she might _just_ be lookin' to boink the guy ..."

"You think so?"

"... but, if she wants to do the 'talking thing' too, which, let's face it, she probably does, she'll be wastin' her time. A _lot_ of her time."

"How d'you mean?"

"Dude can hardly get two fuckin' words out straight. He's all _H-how can I h-help you this morning?_ I mean, it'll be daylight by the time he actually gets round to inviting her 'in for a n-n-n-nightcap' and ... oh ... aw, fuck, I'm sorry, Will. I didn't mean anythin' by it."

"It's okay ..."

"Just bein' an asshole."

"No, really. Forget it. I know you didn't mean —"

"What a fuckin' asshole."

"Forget about it. Really."

"Yeah, right about now I'm willin' to bet you're thinkin' the whole 'boinking without talking' thing's maybe not a bad idea. Jesus ..."

* * *

"I think I'm beginning to forget things," Willow said. She put her hairbrush back down on top of the dresser as Faith came out of the bathroom.

"What kinda things?"

She told Faith what had happened in the library with Dawn earlier.

("Did you find anything yet?" Willow asked.

Dawn stopped pecking on the laptop keyboard and looked at her. "Sorry?"

"Did you find anything yet on Giles' new demon?"

"Um, I'm doing my English lit homework?"

"Oh, yeah. Right." Willow rubbed her eyes and went back to staring at the thin, yellowing pages in front of her.)

"I see," said Faith, stroking her chin and nodding 'wisely'. Willow could tell she was about to say something stupid. "You think you're losin' it 'cause you forgot something that a kid who didn't even exist four years ago, except we all think she did, told you?"

"It's not funny."

Faith sat down on the end of the bed and pulled off her boots. "So, does this mean if I ask you to loan me a twenty, you'll forget to ask for it back?" She stood up again and went over to the closet and, still chuckling, placed her boots neatly together on the floor, lining the toes up about an inch from the furniture's edge.

"You're not helping."

"Okay, okay, gimme another example."

"Well ... I can't think of one right now. Which, you know, could be an example itself ..."

Faith sat down on the end of the bed again. "You're not losin' your memory, Will. You were just tired."

Willow nodded. It was most likely too late by now for karmic payback anyway. She climbed into bed and picked up a book from the night table.

"Don't forget to turn off the light when you're done."

Willow looked at her.

"Just kiddin' with ya." Faith went back to unbuttoning her jeans and, when she was done undressing, pulled back the covers and climbed in beside Willow. Then she rearranged a couple of pillows and lay down, then sat up again, then moved the pillows around some more.

Willow put her book down. "If you're trying to ... distract me, I told you it's not the best time? I'm still feeling kinda —"

Faith's attempt to look offended sailed past 'cute' and landed somewhere between 'pathetic' and 'just really bad'. Which, okay, was still sorta cute.

"Jeez, Willow, you don't feel like it, well ... it's not _all_ about the screwing." She paused, a little crease on her brow appearing, along with a small grin. "Man, did _I_ just say that?"

It suddenly dawned on Willow that this wasn't the first time Faith had spent the night in her room without ... you know.

When did _that_ happen?

* * *

Willow's mother called and told her she was attending a lecture nearby in a couple of days on 'the impact of virtual minority communities on the geographical and cultural awareness of teenagers' ethno-political inclusiveness' ... or something ... and that 'it would be nice' if they could meet for dinner.

"Are you gonna bring Faith along?" Buffy asked.

"Well, I sorta mentioned it to her ..."

"To Faith," Buffy checked.

"... but, she got this kinda frowny, confused look. Which I get, 'cause, you know, I've never even bothered mentioning it to my folks."

"How come?"

Willow looked at her. "Well, it's not like I can just introduce her as 'my new gay girlfriend' or anything." She made little finger-quotes, just to make her point.

"How come?" Buffy said again.

"'Cause, you know ... it's not like that."

"Oh," Buffy said. Then, "Everyone else thinks it is."

Willow frowned.

"Well ..." Buffy began counting off on her fingers. "You hang out _all_ the time ... you go away on all those vacation-type trips together ... she called you every night from Cleveland for those four days she was there ... you go out sometimes on what I assume are those things we humans call 'dates' ... when you go to the movies you do that pinkie thing Dawn told me about ..." Buffy switched hands. "... then there's all the sappy looks ... the little presents ... all the smoochies and the other stuff I _so_ don't want to know about ... neither of you are seeing other people, and ... and ... she pisses you off!" Buffy smiled triumphantly.

"She pisses you off too," Willow pointed out.

"Different kind of pissed off," answered Buffy.

Faith came in through the back door of the kitchen with the little stone ashtray. She tipped the contents into the trash bin.

"Faith?" said Buffy, as her counterpart opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.

"Willow? Did you get me some of those —"

"Bottom shelf in the drawer on the right."

"Great. Thanks."

"Faith," said Buffy again.

"What's up, O Chosen One?" She closed the refrigerator door and turned round to look at Buffy.

"How would you describe Willow?"

Willow opened her mouth to protest but, somehow, nothing came out. Score one for curiosity.

"Uh, about _this_ tall, red hair ..."

"No, doofus. I mean, say you're walking down the street, you and Willow, and you meet someone you know and they don't know Willow and so you have to introduce her ..."

"Who we talkin' about? 'Cause most everyone I know these days —"

"It's hypothetical."

"Oh."

"So, you're walking down the street, you meet someone and you say to them, _Hi, how are you ... yada, yada, yada ... oh, and this is Willow, she's my ..."_ Buffy let the sentence hang.

"She's my what?"

"That's what I'm asking. What would you say?"

Willow felt herself start to cringe. "Buffy ..."

Faith glanced at her, then looked back at Buffy. "Is this for some kinda _Cosmo_-type quiz or something?"

"No," Buffy sighed. "I just want to —"

"'Cause I never score high on those things."

"It's not for a quiz, Faith. I just want to know. Willow is your ... "

Faith narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "Why d'you wanna —"

"Okay!" Willow snapped, startling herself. "We get it! You don't wanna answer the damn question!"

Faith threw her arms in the air, almost clocking Willow on the head with the bottle.

"Well, whaddaya want me to say? It's a stupid question." She gave Buffy a narrow-eyed glare, then, lowering her head, fidgeted with the bottle for a moment, before leaning on the counter with a deep sigh. When Willow didn't look at her, Faith began giving her little nudges with her elbow, a half-formed smirk turning the corner of her mouth up.

"Okay, I got it," she said to Buffy, then tilted her head to look at Willow again.

Willow continued to ignore her.

"Willow Rosenberg is the one ray of light ..."

"Go away."

"... in the otherwise dark and colorless ..."

"I mean it. Go away." Willow bit the inside of her cheek in an effort not to laugh. Maybe because she wasn't sure if she really wanted to.

"... bleak hole of an existence ..."

"I'm not listening."

"... that is my worthless, skanky, sucky life."

"Fuck you."

Faith laughed and said to Buffy, "That the kinda answer you were lookin' for?" She pushed herself away from the counter and left the kitchen, still laughing.

Buffy offered Willow an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, I shouldn't have —"

They turned as Faith stuck her head back round the kitchen doorway and looked at Willow. "You're still my girl, right?"

Willow's mother called again that evening. The lecture had been cancelled. She didn't mention dinner.

* * *

So, now Willow was looking up at her with that _Did I just hear right?_ look on her face, although Faith was sure she was trying not to show it.

She felt the sweat between her shoulder blades start to dry up, shuddered at the prickly, cold, clammy sensation. Her arms were beginning to tremble too with the effort of holding herself up and trying to keep her breathing steady at the same time, trying not to panic. Forcing herself to ignore the unsteadiness long enough to ease herself away, she lay on her back, staring up at the dark ceiling.

Neither one spoke for what felt like at least a minute. From the corner of her eye, she could see Willow turn her head to look at her.

"Do you mean it?" Willow asked.

Faith shrugged. Well, she'd said it, hadn't she? "Guess so."

The confused, disbelieving expression softened. Then Willow smiled. "Me too."

Well … fuck.

**END  
**

**BEGGARS BANQUET**

* * *

**AN: **Once again, much appreciation is extended to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, followed and/or PM'd me with further thoughts and comments. Hope you enjoyed it. The third - and final - installment of the Wickedgeekyverse, _Out of Our Heads, _should follow soon-ish. However, it turns out some parts are a little rougher than I'd remembered, so final editing might take a bit longer than I originally thought it would. In the interim, as with the last break, I'll be posting a number of one-shots.

Thanks again.

elviswhataguy


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